


With You I'd Walk Anywhere

by flowerfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: After IW; ignores/written before Endgame, Fake Relationship, Love, M/M, Pining, Reunion Fic, Undercover, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-23 20:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: It’s been two years since the Thanos disaster was reversed, and yet Steve and Bucky never managed to make their relationship work again.  Bucky has resigned himself to his perfectly adequate life in Wakanda, and tries not to focus on where things went wrong with Steve.  But when Bucky volunteers to go on his first mission in ages, an undercover op at a swanky Caribbean resort, of course it turns out that Steve is there too – and lo and behold, everything depends on Steve and Bucky posing as a married couple.   Bucky’s going to kill Sam when this is all over, but before it is, they’ve got a job to do.  And some fruity adult beverages to enjoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my amazing artists, [Kelsey_Fantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelsey_Fantasy) and [Harratus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harratus). Be sure to check out Harratus’ brochure for the resort [here](http://paullikesbooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/stucky_bang_2018_008_art.pdf) and enjoy Kelsey’s moodboard below!
> 
> And huge thanks to my ever-patient beta, perry_avenue, who never fails to encourage me. This wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without her!

Bucky carefully puts away his dinner dishes, drying each handmade clay piece before returning it to the shelf. He keeps out his glass, filling it with the crisp Wakandan wine he’s come to favor. He isn’t quite ready to hit the hay (not that he still has a hay mattress, he thinks to himself with a little smile, having opted for a more traditional bed some time ago), so he goes outside and sits down to watch the sunset.

Sunsets in Wakanda are beautiful, no doubt, and the view from Bucky’s little home is no exception. The peaceful lake in front of him, the grass and rolling hills are as perfect a scene as one could ever hope for. Tall mountains frame the landscape to the south, and the rainforest is off to the north. No one could ask for more.

Bucky sits quietly, sipping his drink and relishing the warmth it leaves in his belly. But try as he might to relax, to listen to the sounds of the evening and slow his thoughts, he knows tonight isn’t going to be a good one for practicing the meditations the village elders have taught him. 

He tells himself there is nothing to be worried about, no reason not to still his mind. His latest crop of beans has grown well and had been safely harvested just a week ago. Shuri had been pleased with the results, especially since she gave him a new strain to try this year, a sturdy variation with a long shelf-life and twice the protein of the previous season’s batch. She is determined to solve the world’s hunger problems through science, and while Bucky thinks it is an awfully optimistic goal, he is happy to help her in any way that he can. There is a lot he owes to Shuri.

Bucky sighs and uncrosses his legs, groaning a little as he stands up. For a moment he misses the companionship of his goats, who provided him with a much-needed distraction during those first difficult months out of cryo. But when Thanos disappeared half the planet, Okoye’s auntie had stepped in to take care of his four-legged friends in Bucky’s absence. Bucky didn’t have the heart to take them back when he returned.

The sky darkens as the sun sinks below the horizon, and Bucky swallows down the last of his wine. He isn’t sure where this melancholy feeling is coming from, but it doesn’t really matter. In any case, tomorrow he is making his weekly trek to the palace, to check in with Shuri. He winces, rubbing his thigh. Maybe he’ll try to fit in a massage, too, before coming back to his farm. 

Bucky’s life is good by any measure. He has ample food, a pleasant shelter, productive work to do which contributes to the well-being of society. If he is a little lonely, so be it. No one knew better than Bucky how very much worse a life could be.

Back indoors, Bucky detaches his metal arm and places it carefully in its stand. The new arm Shuri had engineered was lighter and stronger than his old one, but it still weighs something, and taking it off is always a relief. He had gone for years without a left arm, after getting out of cryo, and sometimes he thinks about ditching it altogether. But it comes in handy (haha, he thinks to himself, handy) working on the farm, and he certainly put it to good use fighting Thanos, as pointless as that turned out to be. The newest model even has a feature he can switch on which makes it appear to be natural, with the color of Bucky’s own skin, although he hasn’t used it very often, and it makes him a little resentful that it’s even necessary. Regardless, Bucky never wants to be unprepared if he ever needs to put his life on the line for Wakanda again, and so he keeps the arm and its high tech camouflage in prime condition, ready and waiting for whatever may come.

More than once Bucky has wondered how this metal device can serve as a shield against the evils of the world, when once it stood for evil itself. But those are larger questions than Bucky cares to contemplate, at least not now, when he should be going to sleep.

He brushes his teeth and strips down to his boxer briefs, noting that they’ve become a little worn looking. Not that anyone but Bucky will be seeing his underclothes, but hey, he’s got a little pride in his appearance left in there somewhere. 

Once upon a time this train of thought would have led to mournful contemplations of where things went wrong with Steve – why he hasn’t come to visit in almost a year, why he doesn’t seem interested in returning texts with answers of more than one word. But Bucky has been working at keeping that train firmly in the station, engines turned off and doors locked. It’s probably not the best approach from a therapeutic point of view, but he’s tired of being sad about it. Someday, he’ll see Steve again, or he won’t. And whether or not he’s in his ratty underwear when it happens will probably not be his biggest concern. 

*****  
The next morning Bucky rises before the sun. He slings a bag over his shoulder with a change of clothes, makes sure his knives are strapped securely everywhere they belong, and heads down the trail.

There is a good road to the palace – there is even a free bus, if you wait at the village center – but Bucky prefers to walk. It will only take him three hours to get to the outskirts of Birnin Zana, where he will pick up the sleek maglev train to the city’s business district, and he enjoys the journey. Around the midpoint he pauses at the bottom of a waterfall to refill his water bottle. It’s one of his favorite spots in Wakanda, at least so far. He had always hoped to bring Steve here, maybe have a picnic. Indulge in some private activities to the tune of the falling water.

Bucky scoffs at himself, and sets off down the path again. There won’t be any romantic rainforest reunion with Steve, and he needs to come to grips with that once and for all. 

By the time Bucky approaches the palace he is ravenous, and looking forward to the breakfast spread he knows will be waiting for him. Shuri has been endlessly amused with how much Bucky enjoys Wakandan food, although less so when she realized he would eat practically anything, from the most boring mac and cheese to African delicacies. Bucky might be retired, but Bucky’s metabolism doesn’t know it, and he’s generally always a little hungry. Shuri brought in a nutritionist to try to convince Bucky to load up on proteins and healthy carbs instead of empty calories, but Bucky figures he can just eat all of it, especially when someone else is doing the cooking.

He walks around the side of the palace to the broad patio which serves as one of the dining areas for the palace staff and inhabitants. Seating himself at a table under the shade of a vibrantly patterned umbrella, Bucky nods his thanks as a waiter brings him a glass of tea. He closes his eyes, content to relax for a few minutes until Shuri joins him.

Before he can drift off, however, he hears a familiar voice. He gets up and looks around, and sees none other than Sam Wilson. Sam is kicked back in a chair, laughing at something his companion is saying. Bucky’s movement must have caught his eye, and Sam turns, a smile stretching his face.

“Bucky! How are you?” Sam crosses the patio and pulls Bucky into a hug, which then turns into a back-slapping sort of event. “T’challa said you might be here today, I was hoping to get a chance to see your ugly mug.”

“Well, he’s right here, look all you want.” Shuri pops up behind Sam, her smile as bright as the jacket she has thrown over her shoulders. “Although he’s not half as ugly as you.” She smirks and then glances back at her brother – Sam’s dining companion, apparently, who Bucky had somehow missed. “Come, let’s sit.”

Bucky is soon devouring some sort of grain pancakes with sour fruit and a side of American style bacon and sausage, while Shuri adds about ten different toppings to a bowl of oatmeal. Sam and T’challa are drinking tea, having apparently already finished their morning meal. The conversation turns to politics (difficult), world security (improving), and the current status of the former Avengers (all cleared, nary a court martial in sight).

“Thor’s heading back out to the Asgardians’ newest settlement planet,” Sam explains, grabbing a piece of bacon off Bucky’s plate. Bucky clearly needs to eat faster, or maybe just order more bacon. “It’s been pretty successful, but there’s some infighting. Family squabble between leaders.”

“It happens,” T’challa says. He snorts as Shuri kicks him under the table. “What? I didn’t say anything about you.”

“Of course not, King,” Shuri says, half bowing from her seat in fake deference. “We agree completely on all things relating to our great nation of Wakanda. How could I ever forget it?” When T’challa had been disappeared, Shuri had taken over as ruler of Wakanda. Bucky didn’t think she was sorry to have her brother back, not in the least – but it must have stung just a tiny bit to no longer be Queen, no matter how much her brother still relied upon her.

Bucky zones out of the conversation for a few minutes, and when he tunes back in, the topic has apparently changed. 

“So you think they’re HYDRA?” T’challa asks, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table. “I thought they were a thing of the past.”

Bucky feels a shiver run through him. “Cut off one head, another grows in its place,” he mutters.

Shuri sends him a worried look. “That’s not much of a talent when you think about it,” she says, trying to lighten the mood. She is well aware of how evil HYDRA is, having learned what they did to (and through) Bucky. “Starfish can grow limbs back, and they’re hardly dangerous.”

“No, Bucky’s right,” Sam said, sitting back in his chair. “HYDRA’s the worst kind of scum, for sure. And unfortunately, no, we never even thought we got rid of them. We just had bigger fish to fry.”

“What are they up to this time?”

Sam sighs. “Nothing good. Drug smuggling, but we think it’s a cover to hide something worse.”

“Worse than drug smuggling?” Shuri asks.

“Um-hm, yeah, funny, right?” Sam replies. “We’re not sure what they’re trying to cover up, but they’ve gone to great lengths to make it look like run of the mill, everyday criminal drug smuggling. Even set up a rich captain of industry as their figurehead.”

“You going to infiltrate the operation?” Bucky asks.

“We’d like to. But we’re kind of spread thin at the moment. We’ll probably just wait and see what happens, get involved when we know more.” 

This seems short-sighted to Bucky, especially where HYDRA is involved. He starts to question Sam, but then snaps his mouth shut. This isn’t his business anymore, and he has no right to judge how the Avengers run their missions.

“Scott’s got a friend who goes down there occasionally, we’re going to ask him to keep an eye out.”

“Scott?” Shuri asks. 

“Scott Lang. Ant-man? You haven’t met him?”

Shuri shakes her head. “No, but I would like to.” The conversation turns to what Sam knows about how Scott shrinks down to ant size (which is not very much), and then back again to the HYDRA problem.

“Luis obviously doesn’t mind spending a few days in the Caribbean every month, especially since he realized he’d be flying there on the Avengers’ dime. Not that he knows squat about that part of the world – guy was born in Chicago, and I don’t think he’s ever left the continental U.S. But he’s a loyal bro, would do anything for Scott.”

Luis hardly seems qualified for this kind of work, Bucky thinks to himself, at least not based on what he knows of the guy. He’s not sure he’d trust him with a low level bank heist, let alone keeping tabs on a HYDRA cluster with a double secret plot.

“Bucky, you should give him some pointers,” Shuri says, pulling out her phone. “I might have some things that would help as well.”

“Pointers?” Sam asks. “About what?”

“Bucky’s been reading about the history of the Caribbean islands.” 

“And of the African nations,” T’challa adds.

Bucky shrugs. “Not a lot of nightlife on the farm.”

“You don’t have to apologize for educating yourself,” T’challa says primly. He turns to Sam. “Bucky apparently heard us say one too many times that we had never been touched by the taint of colonization. He decided to do some research. It’s not often that someone cares enough to try to understand the culture around them, instead of just profiting from it.”

Sam looks a little taken aback, and T’challa quickly moves to set him at ease. “No offense, my friend, please. We’re all just very fond of our White Wolf. He’s been doing a great deal to help the Wakandan people.”

Bucky waves away the compliment, but it warms him nonetheless.

“Anyway,” T’challa goes on, “I know I am eager to see the new wings Shuri has designed for you, Sam. What do you say we go try them out?” 

Before long Sam has given Bucky another hug-slash-back slap and heads off with T’challa to fly over a cliff or chase hippos or something equally awesome. Not that Bucky has never tried the wings – Shuri had even rigged up a special pair, weighted to compensate for his arm – but it isn’t on his schedule for today.

He and Shuri make their way through the palace to her lab. An entire section is devoted to her research on better strains of commonly grown food, and they spend a few hours looking at Bucky’s recent crop of beans, along with some other grains and an eggplant-like fruit.

Later Bucky checks in with his doctors, and even manages to get that massage he was hoping for. But as the wiry masseuse pokes and prods his weary body into submission, his mind keeps wandering to what Sam had said about the HYDRA operation. It doesn’t sit right with him, leaving it to occasional oversight by a guy who is nice enough, by all counts, but not the brightest bulb. Bucky has never actually been to the Caribbean – hell, Sam hadn’t even said where in the Caribbean he was talking about – but there is no way Bucky couldn’t do a better job than Luis.

After dinner that night, sitting with Shuri and T’challa in the family’s quarters, Bucky can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

“I should go,” he says, interrupting an increasingly snarky conversation about whether binge watching _Friends_ is a useful education in American pop culture or a ridiculous waste of time (T’challa is arguing for the former – he adores _Friends_ ). 

“Go where?” Shuri asks.

“On that mission. Instead of Luis.”

Later, Bucky could swear that a look of triumph flashed over Shuri’s face, but by then, it was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky grins at the little lizard that darts off the path into the palm trees. He’s been traveling all day, and he’s looking forward to checking out the resort’s accommodations. He follows the signs until he gets to the beach. There’s a string of private villas facing the ocean, each at a polite distance from the next. Clearly this mission isn’t going to be a hardship.

He fingers the thin necklace Shuri gave him before he left Wakanda. She had explained that the technology in the vibranium strand surrounded by a tight leather braid would disguise his face. Cleverly, the disguise will have no effect on anyone else wearing another of her special necklaces, so any backup team that gets sent in will be able to see his face. Bucky really doesn’t think it is necessary, as he isn’t one of the most recognizable Avengers (as long as his arm stays hidden – which it will), but it makes him feel a little safer nonetheless. Besides, the leather cord looks kind of cool.

Bucky pauses when he gets to the right villa, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and rubbing a hand over his chin. He had decided that the hippie farmer look didn’t go with his cover, and trimmed his unruly beard down to a short stubble before leaving home. It’s itchy, probably because he keeps forgetting to use the fancy beard oil Shuri gave him. 

Bucky holds his key card up to the lock and pushes open the door. Inside cool blues and whites decorate a small living area, with a light wood dining table off to one side. The windows are open, long sheer drapes ruffling in the breeze. Bucky lets his duffel bag slide to the floor and looks around. Strangely, there’s already a laptop on the table, and someone’s sunglass case. As Bucky wonders whether he’s been given the wrong room, a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.

“Bucky?”

Steve is standing in front of him, a towel around his waist and hair mussed as if he’s just come out of the shower, a matching leather cord around his neck. The beard is gone, and Steve’s gorgeous, worried face is on full display. It’s a lot to take in – in fact, it feels a little like an ambush.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing here?”

Steve’s expression goes from confused to hurt, and Bucky regrets his tone. It’s not the first time.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Steve grabs the edge of his towel and steps back defensively. “I’m here on a mission.” 

“So am I.” Bucky picks his duffel bag back up. “At least, I thought I was.”

“Sam said-” they both say at the same time, and then it all becomes clear. It’s a set up, and not a particularly subtle one.

Steve sighs and walks over to the wicker sofa. It doesn’t look strong enough to hold him, but he sits down anyway. “I thought you were tired of war.”

“I thought you weren’t a spy.”

There’s a beat. The tension in the air is almost welcome, but Steve doesn’t continue the argument.

“How did Sam convince you to come?” Steve asks, resigned.

He didn’t even ask, Bucky thinks. I just walked right into it. “He said the Avengers were spread too thin, so Luis was running the op. And that it might be HYDRA.”

Steve scowls. “He’s right about the HYDRA part. But Luis? That’s not even credible. Who would believe Luis could handle this?”

“Sue me. I haven’t actually been in the loop on Avengers business lately.”

“Whose fault is that?” Steve snaps, then immediately looks chagrined. “Sorry, sorry… I…” He takes a breath and tries again. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he takes it out and answers. He listens for a minute, and then turns to Steve. “It’s someone named Dr. Simmons, from SHIELD? She wants to skype with us, fill us in on the mission.”

“Sure.” Steve stands up, and grabs at his towel again. “Maybe tell her I’ll be right there?”

A few minutes later Steve is dressed in khakis and a white polo shirt, and joins Bucky in front of the laptop.

“Hello again,” says the woman. She’s got a pleasant accent, and introduces herself as Dr. Jemma Simmons (“call me Jemma, please”).

She lays out the information the team has collected so far, and then suggests that they read through the materials about the resort to get acquainted with it. “There should be a pamphlet on the kitchen counter, and a list of all this week’s dining times and activities. We’re told our target particularly enjoys the after-dinner cocktails on the beach, late nights at the club, and various water sports.”

Steve reaches over to look at the folder of information, and his eyes go wide. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What’s wrong?” Jemma asks.

Steve slides the folder over to Bucky. He scans the front, admiring the photographs of the green-blue sea and swaying palm trees, and then looks at where Steve is pointing. “The premier couples resort in the Caribbean,” he reads. “Winner of the 2020 Global LGBTQ Award.” 

It’s actually pretty funny, when you think about it. But Steve apparently isn’t in the mood.

“It’s a couples resort,” Steve says, his voice unnaturally calm. “A _gay_ couples resort.”

“Well, it would have been odd to send the two of you together if it wasn’t, no?” Jemma says primly. “Is this not what you were expecting?”

“I don’t like not being informed about the details of my missions,” Steve says slowly. 

Jemma looks concerned, like she’s embarrassed at having upset Captain America. It’s probably ruined her whole day.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky says, waving his hand at the screen. “He gets tired of people thinking he’s just a pretty face. He’ll get over it.”

“Shut it, Buck,” Steve says. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Jemma, this isn’t your fault. If this is where our target is, it’s where we’ll be. Is there anything else we need to know?”

She proceeds to explain more about their contact protocol for the next few days, and reminds them that there are some specialized weapons and tac gear along with resort appropriate clothes in the closet in the bedroom. “You should have everything you need, but if not, just let me know. The suits should fit just right – Sergeant Barnes, you have Princess Shuri to thank for that. She was very helpful in selecting your formal wear.”

Bucky thinks that Shuri might have had a little fun at his expense in that area, but at least he knows the jacket sleeves will fit over his metal arm. 

“One thing, before we get off the call - tell me why we need a doctor on this op?” Bucky asks.

Jemma smiles. “I’m a scientist, actually, although I have been assisting Maria Hill with operations for some time. She thought I could be of particular use to you if you find any drugs.”

“Drugs?” Steve asks.

“Yes, the drugs that HYDRA is developing. They’re smuggling cocaine, as we discussed, but that’s just a cover.”

“And we know for sure it’s a cover for other drugs?”

Jemma shrugs. “Not for sure, no. But we’ve got intel that suggests it.” She looks to the side, where she’s swiping on a tablet. “Among the materials we left for you is a case of supplies with a variety of helpful items. One of them looks like this-” She holds up a little black box with a sliding glass lid. She opens the box and shows them several small devices, one with a sharp point on the end. “Once you get a sample of the drug, you can put it in here, and it will analyze it and transmit the information to me.”

She sounds almost gleeful, and Bucky has a moment of missing Shuri – Shuri loves nothing more than showing off a new piece of tech.

“Did you design that yourself?” Bucky asks.

Jemma’s smile grows wider. “I did, thank you. It will come in quite handy, I think.”

Within moments of ending the call, a silence descends upon the room. Neither of them seem to know what to say. Bucky is just about to awkwardly run away and hide in the bedroom when Steve gets up.

“I’m going for a run.”

Bucky doesn’t point out that Steve has just taken a shower (which might well mean he already went for a run). But as both of them just learned from their talk with Jemma, the dinner hour is rapidly approaching.

“Shall I make us reservations?” Bucky asks, nodding towards the pamphlet. “Maybe the casual café on the beach tonight?”

Steve looks pained, as if the idea of having dinner with Bucky is equivalent to having a tooth pulled.

“You know,” Bucky starts, trying to keep his voice level, “I didn’t ask for this either. But the least you could do is be professional about it.”

Steve steps back, his eyes widening. “Pro – professional? You want me to be professional?”

Bucky’s not sure what’s wrong with that. Surely acting civil towards your mission partner isn’t too much to expect. “Yes?”

Steve flails his hands, inexplicably speechless, and then stomps off into the bedroom. He must have had his running clothes primed and ready to go, because it’s barely a minute before he’s stomping back through the room and out the door.

Bucky takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He’s pretty sure that if he sent a mayday to Shuri, she’d have him out of here before Steve got back from his run. But he really doesn’t want his first op since Thanos to be ruined because he and Steve can’t get along. And he’s not about to quit just because Steve is being a dumbass – if he were, he would have gone on a lot fewer missions.

He downloads the resort’s app and makes them a dinner reservation for eight o’clock. Late enough to be somewhat fashionable, but not so late as to draw attention to themselves. Then, remembering Jemma’s comments, he decides to check out the supplies she sent them. If Steve is going to stick his head in the sand, at least one of them should be aware of what they’re up against.

As promised, the closet in the bedroom is filled with clothes tailored to each of them. Bucky grins as he looks at each item – it’s easy to tell which ones Shuri picked out, and which had been selected for Steve. Although all of the clothes are high quality, Bucky’s are definitely more hip. He snaps a quick photo and texts it to her. _Thanks for the duds._

It only takes a few seconds for a response to come. _You’re welcome. I couldn’t have you meeting your boo in any less._

Bucky groans. _I don’t think that word means what you think it means._

_Don’t quote movies at me. I know plenty._

_You could have told me what this mission was really about._

_It’s still about HYDRA…. And in my defense, Sam didn’t tell me about Steve going until after you volunteered to go._

_That’s a mighty weak defense._

A minute passes, but the little dots remind him that Shuri is still typing. Finally, there’s a response. _Can you honestly say you’re not happy to be there with him?_

Bucky closes his eyes and lets a long breath out through his nose. He knows the answer as soon as he reads the question, but it’s hard to admit it. He was supposed to be past this by now.

_No. How did you know?_

_Sweetheart, when I met you, I thought the two of you were old marrieds. I don’t know what’s happened, but your love for that man can be seen from the moon. And what’s left of Asgard, and that place with the turquoise ice mountains, and the one with the kittens that breathe fire, and everywhere else in this wide, wide universe._

Great. So he’s not only pathetic, he’s obvious.

Before Bucky can reply, Shuri writes again. _Now quit pining and pretty yourself up for dinner. Try the mango avocado appetizer, it’s the café’s signature dish for a reason._

Bucky laughs as he types back. _Should I bother asking how you know where we’re having dinner?_

_Obviously not. You may be miles away, my friend, but we’ve got your back. You can do this._

Bucky signs off and turns to the large black equipment case on the floor of the closet. Opening it up, he finds a variety of gadgets he recognizes from hanging around with Shuri in her lab, along with the glass topped drug analyzer Jemma mentioned during the call. Apparently Wakanda is collaborating with SHIELD and the Avengers on the tech side as well as in battle. Like the hand-picked clothes, it makes Bucky feel a little less lost, knowing Shuri and everyone back home are looking out for him.

Because Wakanda is home, now. It’s been almost four years that he’s lived there, even if you don’t count the time in cryo (or the not-time caused by Thanos). It’s the longest he’s spent free in any one place since Brooklyn. And Wakanda has an awful lot to recommend it – a beautiful country, a strong people, and ways for Bucky to contribute without putting anyone at risk, including himself. 

But it doesn’t have Steve. Try as Bucky might have, he couldn’t manage to ever really talk to Steve about why he wouldn’t stay with him in Wakanda after the Thanos disaster. He suspects that whatever happened between them is as much his fault as it is Steve’s, but somehow that knowledge hasn’t helped him figure out what to do about it.

Bucky’s putting everything back in the case when he notices a small black bag tucked into an inside pocket. He upends it on the bed and a square velvet box falls out onto the snowy white duvet. The little box is immediately recognizable, and Bucky’s heart starts to pound.

Bucky sits down hard on the bed and takes a few shaky breaths. He shouldn’t be so shocked that part of their cover as a couple in this swanky resort would be posing as husbands, and yet, it hits him harder than a blow from Thor’s lost hammer.

Not surprisingly, there are two wedding rings inside the black box. Good quality, platinum, wide. They’re clearly expensive, but impersonal, meant only to fit with their cover. Perfectly acceptable and yet so completely wrong.

Years ago, before Thanos, Shuri had teased him about “what if’s” – what if you could have anything you wanted, what would you do if nothing stood in your way? Together they both spun out their fantasies, which of course, for pathetic, obvious Bucky, starred everyone’s favorite war criminal and hero, Steve Rogers.

Of course, at the time, it might not have seemed so pathetic, the idea of him and Steve getting married. They were together, happily so, even if Steve was away from Wakanda most of the time, globe-hopping with Sam and Nat while Bucky recovered on his farm.

Bucky wonders now, if he had these rings in his possession the night before they fought Thanos, if Bucky would have had the guts to offer one to Steve. Even when things were at their best between them, Bucky had never been sure if Steve would say yes. He had held back from asking the question, not wanting to force Steve into another choice between Bucky and the greater good -- saving the world, fighting evil, all the things that Steve believed made him worthy, gave him value. The last time Steve had to make that choice, he had picked Bucky, and in the process he lost the faith of some of his best friends, and his country as well. 

If Steve had just done the asking himself, or given Bucky a sign that he’d be receptive to a proposal, it would have been different. But that didn’t happen, and so the first time Bucky holds a ring he once imagined giving the love of his life, it is years too late, on a mission where Steve is reluctantly pretending to care about him.

No fucking way is he putting this or any other ring on Steve’s finger now. People can damn well believe they’re married even if they aren’t wearing rings.

By the time Steve returns from his run the rings are back in the closet, a little piece of Bucky’s heart shoved in there with them.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky’s ready for dinner, sitting at the table reading additional information about the various places on the island where their target might be conducting nefarious schemes when Steve shuffles past, mumbling something about taking another shower. No shit, pal, Bucky thinks. Mission or not, I’m not going to dinner with you stinking like that.

“You said this is casual, right?” Steve says a few minutes later from the bedroom. Bucky can hear him unpacking, sliding drawers in and out.

“Yup. But rich people casual.”

“What does that mean?”

Bucky shrugs, despite the fact that Steve can’t see him. “Dunno. Wear something from the closet. Don’t take my stuff.” Bucky has on a dark blue dress shirt and black slacks, with some of the nicest leather shoes he’s ever worn. He opted not to wear a tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt instead. They are at the beach, after all.

Steve comes out a few minutes later in khakis and a white button down. Whoever packed for him clearly doesn’t have a very vivid imagination. Not that Steve doesn’t rock the look – and at least the clothes are well tailored. Bucky absolutely does not check out Steve’s ass as he trails him out of their front door.

The path is lit by lights tucked in among the tropical plants, and the moon is up, its silver glow reflecting off the ocean. It’s ridiculously romantic, and they haven’t even made it to dinner yet. 

Despite Steve’s earlier hesitance, they fall into place next to each other with ease. Steve’s arm brushes Bucky’s as they walk, and Steve’s eyes flick up to Bucky’s.

“Sorry,” Steve says, but there’s an odd inflection to it, as if he’s asking a question.

“Don’t be,” Bucky says. He loops his arm through Steve’s and bumps against him. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Steve looks relieved, almost hopeful.

“Sure. We’re a couple, remember? It would be weird if we didn’t ever touch.” Bucky’s heart beats faster as he speaks, and he wishes this wasn’t playing pretend. What’s going on between them is too important for games. But it’s their mission, and he doesn’t know how to do it any other way.

“No, of course. You’re right.” They continue on down the path, but whatever comfort Bucky might have found in holding Steve’s arm is gone.

The waiter greets them by name (“Mr. and Mr. Buchanan, right this way”) and Bucky grins at the flush that rises on Steve’s cheeks.

“What’s that about?” Steve hisses at Bucky, as they take their seats adjacent to each other at a table facing the water.

“You didn’t read the background material Jemma sent, did you?”

Steve huffs and makes a face, but he doesn’t have a good answer. Bucky knows Steve’s propensity to jump into situations without a plan, which is why he always makes sure to read every word of their briefings. It’s part of what made them a good team, back when they were a team.

“Fine,” Steve finally says, after their server has poured them each a glass of a pricey white wine. “I may have skipped some of the details. Fill me in. What’s our story?”

Bucky takes his time, sipping his wine and carefully placing it back down on the table. “You’re Seth Buchanan, fitness enthusiast and high school gym teacher.”

Steve glares at Bucky. “No way. How does a high school teacher afford this kind of place? And who decided we’d use that last name?”

Bucky smirks. “I didn’t make this stuff up, Steve. There needs to be some way to explain those,” Bucky nods towards Steve’s arms. Steve’s outrageous biceps are apparent in his slim fitting shirt – normal people just aren’t made that way. “Besides, as a liberal kind of guy, you wouldn’t insist on marking your spouse as your property, would you?”

“So does that make me your property?”

“I wish,” Bucky mutters. Their debate is interrupted when the server comes to take their order. Bucky has half a mind to order for both of them just to piss Steve off, but he restrains himself.

They’re mostly silent as they dig into the rolls and amuse bouche, and it isn’t until Steve has had a few bites of his steak that he seems to relax. “So, I assume it’s you financing this trip?”

Bucky nods. “Jim Buchanan. I’m an entrepreneur who recently sold his latest venture, and is taking a little time off to contemplate what business to get into next. We got married a few months ago in the midst of acquisition hell, so we didn’t have time to have a proper honeymoon until now.”

“Great. I’m a gym rat and you’re a genius. Why would you even be interested in me?”

“Obviously for your ass,” Bucky says, deadpan.

There’s a beat, and then the shocked look on Steve’s face drops away and he laughs, loud and genuine. “God, I missed you,” he says, his blue eyes meeting Bucky’s own. 

Bucky is staring back, trying to freeze the moment in his mind and simultaneously come up with some type of appropriate response, when Steve’s gaze darts to the side. “There he is.”

Leopold Arnim Muller is taller than his namesake, but there’s something in his sly expression that reminds Bucky of Zola in an altogether unsettling way. He’s being seated at a table with a much younger man with blond hair and sunglasses tucked into the v-neck of his floral shirt. Bucky immediately wonders if Muller is preying on the young man like Zola did on him, and a shiver runs through his body.

“Buck, you ok?” There’s a warm hand on his arm, and Steve is looking at him with concern. 

“Yeah, no, it’s fine.” 

Steve doesn’t look like he believes him, but Bucky takes a few steadying breaths and gets his focus back.

“All the intel suggests that this guy is just a drug manufacturer, right?” he asks. “He’s not stealing people’s brains or consciousness or anything?”

Steve glances back at their target. “No reason he can’t be doing both,” he says quietly. “Buck, if this is too much for you-“

Bucky’s tempted to say yes, it is, and run back home to his farm. Everyone would understand. But then what was the point of all that recovery, all the work he put into therapy and meditation, if he can’t help out when help is truly needed? Sure, at first this had seemed like a throwaway mission, or even just a scheme to get him and Steve back together. But faced with Zola’s nephew, it’s clear that something truly evil could be going on. And Bucky can’t let that happen.

“It’s weird,” Bucky says, not wanting to hide completely from Steve – that really hasn’t worked that well in the past. “But I can handle it. I want to.”

Steve gives him a long look, and then nods. “Okay. We’re doing this.”

From that point on, it’s like a switch has been flipped. When they’re in public, Steve plays his part to perfection. Bucky thinks that Steve’s years on the run with Natasha must have finally taught him how to be a spy, because he plays his part like a pro. They talk amiably throughout dinner, walk on the beach afterwards, and then head over to the nightclub, all the while chatting up servers and bartenders and hostesses and anyone who might give them some insight into what Zola might be doing on the island.

They learn that his companion, Jason, is the son of a man who runs boat charters. The family owns a fleet of large powerboats and speedboats, catering to tourists. Apparently the speedboat tour is worth every penny, a bartender named Lila tells them. It takes you to private beaches no one ever gets to see. 

Bucky’s dying to give Steve a wink when they hear this information, but Steve is apparently playing it completely cool – until Lila moves away to help another guest and Steve gives him a quick eyebrow waggle. A private beach accessible only by boat definitely sounds like a handy place to conduct unlawful activity. Maybe they’re getting somewhere after all.

By the end of the night they’ve made arrangements to go on an island tour the next day with a group from the resort, led by Alvaro, the bartender who brings them drinks at the fire pit. Alvaro also works for Jason’s dad’s company on weekends, driving the speedboat. “Wish I could do it full time,” Alvaro tells them, “it’s an awesome job. But they only run the tours a few times a week. Jason says they need the boat for family stuff on weekdays.”

It’s almost two in the morning when they head back along the path to their villa. Steve looks so relaxed and happy, it makes Bucky’s heart swell. Without overthinking it, he reaches over and takes Steve’s hand in his. Steve doesn’t react for a moment, then gives Bucky’s hand a little squeeze and swings their arms back and forth.

It might just be for their cover, but there’s no one else in sight.

A wave of exhaustion hits them both as they get ready for bed. With the travel, and the night before travel not-sleeping, Bucky’s been up for about thirty hours. Bucky sees Steve eyeing the wicker couch (not long enough for even the shortest Avenger to lie down on, and a little creaky besides) and the enormous, king-and-all-his-court-sized bed covered in downy linens in the bedroom. Bucky certainly isn’t going to volunteer to sleep anywhere but the awesome looking bed. 

“Don’t strain yourself, pal,” he says gently to Steve. “Besides, we’re supposed to be on our honeymoon. It would look weird to the staff if we didn’t sleep in the same bed.”

“But…”Steve rubs a hand over his face. “You don’t mind?”

Bucky climbs into the bed, stretches and rolls around, leaving a solid two-thirds of it undisturbed. “I really think there’s room for us both.”

Steve gets under the covers, groaning as he closes his eyes. “My god, this feels good.”

Bucky’s so tired he doesn’t even care that Steve is talking about the bed and not something more rewarding, like maybe his mouth on Steve’s private parts. “It really does.” He turns off the bedside lamp. There’s still light coming in from outside – whether it’s the stars or strategically placed mood lighting in the palm trees, he’s not sure – but it’s soft and does nothing to detract from the incredible feeling of lassitude sweeping over him.

Bucky hears a rustle, knows it’s Steve turning to face him. “We did pretty well today,” Steve says softly, with a hint of pride in his voice.

He turns his head. Steve’s eyes are shining, reflecting the light from the window, and _oh,_ it’s getting harder to be satisfied with just sharing a bed like besties when Steve is looking at him like that.

“We did,” Bucky agrees.

“We make a good team.”

Bucky searches Steve’s tone for any implication that Bucky has up until now been shirking his duties, living in Wakanda like a lame-ass coward while others risk their life to save the world. But he figures that’s just his own familiar self-doubt talking. And anyway, Steve is right. They make a good team. Always have.

“We do.”

Steve holds his gaze for a long moment, smiling that soft smile of his against the pillow, and then flops over onto his back. “Night, Bucky.”

“Night, Steve.”

*****

The next morning they both sleep through breakfast, and hustle to get to the resort lobby where Alvaro had told them to meet for the island tour. Alvaro is all smiles as he chats with the three other couples who are lounging about the breezy reception area, some still blearily clutching cups of coffee and others looking as if they are ready to run a marathon.

It occurs to Bucky that Steve hadn’t gotten out of bed at his usual unearthly hour to go for a run this morning. He tries not to hope that it’s because Steve slept so goddamn well in bed with Bucky that he ignored his internal alarm clock. 

After a fourth couple has joined the group and has their names checked off Alvaro’s list, he escorts them outside to where a large van is waiting. The air inside is briskly chilled and Bucky shivers as he sits down next to Steve. He’s not sorry when Steve notices and leans his shoulder against him with a suppressed laugh.

“Should have brought a jacket,” Steve whispers.

“Thanks mom. It’s eighty degrees outside,” Bucky replies, and then boldly remarks, “besides, I have you.”

Steve colors prettily, but he doesn’t protest, or move away. Score one for the team, Bucky thinks.

Alvaro stands at the front of the van, one hand on the driver’s seat back, and talks about the history of the island as they drive towards town. The tour promises an overview of the sights, along with a few longer stops, and then a chance to do some shopping or return to the resort for lunch. Their plan is to try to get Alvaro alone and talk as much as they can about Jason and Muller, without, of course, being too obvious.

The first stop is a wildlife refuge. This includes a brief tour of a lighthouse built in 1913, which looks out over a rocky cove. The area is home to several rare species of reptiles, and provides nesting habitats for a variety of birds. Steve tries to get a few minutes alone with Alvaro, but one of the other guests has latched on to him (he’s apparently a bird watching fanatic, or whatever the more politically correct name might be) and so Steve doesn’t get much information.

Bucky takes a picture of a red-billed tropicbird poking around the rocks and sends it to Shuri. It’s got striking black markings on white plumage, a long tail, and a bright red beak. Wakanda isn’t the only place in the world with cool animals. He snaps a few pictures of some of the other birds (which don’t look all that different from the seagulls he used to see on the pier way back when) and texts them to Sam. _Your cousins say hi._

Steve demands to see the texts, and laughs at Sam’s reply. _Give ‘em a kiss for me._

Bucky refrains from chastising Sam about not telling him that Steve was going on the mission, and notices that Steve doesn’t say a word, either. Nor does Sam push his luck on the topic. 

They drive up a small mountain to a picturesque overlook, and everyone gets out of the van to let Alvaro take pictures of them. “Perfect for your holiday cards,” Alvaro says. Bucky grins when Steve puts his arm around his shoulder and they pose with the sparkling sea in the background. Nothing wrong with being happy about having a photo of him and Steve. He only hopes that Steve’s smile is as genuine as his own.

The next stop is the main attraction, Orchid Hall. It’s a mansion built in 1770, and one of the most famous homes on the island. Alvaro walks them across the grounds and up the hill to the front entrance. “It’s in the Georgian style, with a stone base and plastered upper story, and was the property of John Walker. Can’t beat the view, right?”

They all turn around as they climb the double flight of wide stone steps, and look down the hillside to the water. There’s an impressive view of the coastline. Alvaro offers to take more photos, and Steve comes over to Bucky as they wait their turn. 

“Fanciest house around,” Bucky comments. “Think Tony would like this place?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t start. Anyway, he’d hate this island- unreliable wifi.”

Inside Alvaro points out the details that were included when the mansion was restored in the 1960s, including the silk wallpaper printed with fruits and birds, the exquisite chandeliers, and the European antiques.

“But the most interesting fact about this house,” Alvaro says, pausing for dramatic effect, “is that it’s haunted.”

The group gives an appreciative “ooooh,” and Steve pokes Bucky in the side.

“Knew there was a reason we came on this tour.”

Bucky pokes him back. “Shush. I wanna hear.” When they were kids, Steve and Bucky had both loved ghost stories. The attraction of spooky tales had faded somewhat with the years, especially given how much true evil had come their way in real life. But Bucky was still game for a good story.

“The owner of Orchid Hall, John Walker, inherited the mansion from his uncle. For a while it was one of the largest sugar plantations on the island, with hundreds of slaves. When John was eighteen years old, he met and married Molly, a girl who had been born on Haiti to Irish parents who died when she was young. She was raised by her nanny who taught her witchcraft and voodoo.

John took Molly away from Haiti and back to this island, although it was no fairytale romance. According to the legend, John was an abusive husband, and regularly beat and tormented Molly. One day John caught her with a male slave, and accused her of engaging in sexual relations with him. Shortly afterwards, John died suddenly. Although it was widely believed that Molly had poisoned John, she was never formally accused of his murder, and she inherited the plantation and John’s family fortune.

Without a husband, rumors of Molly’s promiscuity quickly spread, and so she remarried. But then her second husband died…” Alvaro pauses, catching the eyes of each of his rapt listeners… “and then her third husband, too.”

“People died young all the time in those days,” a tall woman points out – Bucky thinks she’s Melinda, some kind of social media entrepreneur. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Probably everyone just hated her because she was a competent woman,” Melinda’s partner adds.

“That’s definitely possible,” Alvaro agrees. “But it doesn’t explain why so many other residents of this house have died early and unexplainable deaths.”

They move on to another room, and Alvaro stops them again. “This was the bedroom that Molly shared with each of her three husbands. After she passed – she was actually murdered by a slave - the room stayed empty for almost fifty years, as people believed that sleeping here would curse them. Finally someone dared to challenge the curse – and within two months, the man died.”

“Of what?” Melinda asks. “Unknown causes?” She’s enjoying the story, smiling as she asks Alvaro, who smiles back at her.

“Exactly. No one’s slept in this room since then.” He shrugs. “Why risk it, right? Plus, it’s said that the moans are loudest here.”

“What moans?” Bucky asks. He can’t help himself, he’s having a good time too.

“The moans of the dead – not just Molly’s three husbands, but the slaves that she tortured in her practice of black magic, or so the story goes.”

After they’ve toured the house, they take a break in the cool basement, which has been converted to a small restaurant which serves local beer and bar snacks. 

“Can I get a cider?” One of their fellow tour mates, a short man with a strong English accent, asks the bartender, and Alvaro leans in to respond.

“Nope – I almost forgot to tell you this part. There’s no cider served here, or any apple products. The Walker family claims that they are severely allergic to apples, but there’s a theory that they only say that to avoid one potential poison that may have been used on John Walker – the manchineel tree, and its fruit that resemble small green apples.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” the cider guy says. “Apparently it’s quite dangerous.”

“It is. One bite of its fruit can cause intense pain, and may even be fatal. Every part of the tree is toxic, including the bark and the leaves, but especially the sweet fruit. It was rumored to have killed a conquistador, and was thereafter named ‘manzanilla de la muerte’ – the little apple of death.”

On their way back to the van, Bucky takes Steve’s arm, and puts a little distance between them and the rest of the group. 

“Does this all sound fishy to you?” Bucky asks.

Steve keeps his gaze straight ahead. “I don’t know. It’s all just rumor.”

“The mansion is literally associated with a lethal poison called the apple of death, and Zola’s nephew has made his home base at a resort just miles away.”

“There’s no connection between Orchid Hall and Muller,” Steve says reasonably. “And voodoo practitioners and women accused of murder are common enough in the Caribbean.”

“I’m fine with a feminist interpretation of the story, Steve, but that doesn’t mean Muller isn’t torturing slaves in the basement.” Bucky doesn’t realize until he says this how close to home the image is, and he shuts up as they climb into the van.

Steve moves to let Bucky slide in first, next to the window, and then sits down, curving his body just so to provide a shield between Bucky and the rest of the guests. “You okay?”

Sometimes Bucky hates how well Steve can read him. “I’m fine.”

“I promise you, Buck, if there is anyone being tortured here by Muller, we’re going to find them.”

“I know.”

Steve leans against his shoulder – the metal one, but it doesn’t matter, Bucky feels it anyway – and puts a hand on his knee. Soon Alvaro is prattling away again about the current political situation on the island, and Bucky lets his mind wander.

Could Orchid Hall and its grisly past really have anything to do with their current mission? Or did they just waste a morning playing tourist?

******

Back at their villa, they spend a few minutes sending a report to Jemma, and then get ready to head down to the beach. It’s important for their cover that they act like regular tourists treating themselves to a ritzy couples vacation, and frankly, Bucky’s not too upset about the idea of getting some sun. He might even go swimming if the mood hits him.

Bucky comes out of the bedroom to find Steve staring at him. He takes a quick look at himself, fearing for a moment that he forgot to put his swim trunks on, but no, he’s fully clothed. And of course, not only does he have on what Shuri must have determined was the height of fashion – designer board shorts in black and silver that probably cost a fortune - but also a black long sleeved rash guard shirt, to cover his metal arm. The skin-toned camouflage for his arm works pretty well, but it doesn’t mask the fact that he’s got a metal shoulder, too. It’s not exactly how he’d choose to go to the beach, but he’s doing the best he can.

And now that he thinks about it, Bucky’s a little pissed that Steve can’t understand that. “There’s no need to be an asshole,” Bucky says, pushing past Steve to get to the door. 

“What? No, sorry, I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t… it’s just that...”

Bucky turns, watching Steve sputter. It would be amusing, if he wasn’t feeling so inadequate next to Steve’s brick house of a body, clothed in short red trunks and a bright white t-shirt, stretched tight over his chest. “It’s what?”

“You just… you look so…” Steve can’t seem to drag his eyes away from Bucky’s body, and it makes Bucky flush with embarrassment. 

He forces himself not to look down at himself again, or go back into the bedroom and hide until it gets dark. Bucky knows he lost muscle mass in cryo, before the whole Thanos mess, and he hasn’t been training the way he used to when his survival depended on his ability to throw enemies and small cars out of his path. He’s still got some definition in his arm, and his abs are fairly decent, but his bulk is long gone.

“Skinny?” Bucky asks, his throat tight. “Sorry to be such a disappointment.”

Steve’s mouth drops open even wider. “No,” he says urgently, “no, that not what I was going to say. Not at all.”

There’s a blush growing on Steve’s cheeks, and it dawns on Bucky that what Steve is feeling is a lot more like appreciative than appalled. A warmth floods through him, and he feels a wave of relief and, maybe, a little excitement, and his anger and shame melt away.

Bucky moves towards Steve, standing a little straighter, swinging his hips just a bit as he crosses the room, not missing how Steve’s gaze follows him. “Well, what were you going to say?”

A different man might have taken a step back, or at least have the courtesy to look chagrined. But Steve just squares his shoulders and looks Bucky in the eyes as his blush deepens. “Hot. I was going to say that you look hot.”

There’s a moment when Bucky is sure that Steve is going to reach for him, pull him close and kiss the living daylights out of him. Bucky savors it, teeters on the edge of it for several long breaths, but then panics.

“Make sure to bring the backpack,” he says, turning away from Steve and grabbing his sunglasses. He fidgets with his wallet, making sure his key card is in it and shoving it into his shorts, then slides on his flip flops. By the time he lifts his head to look back at Steve, Steve has obediently tossed their pack over his shoulder, and is waiting by the door. He looks a little baffled, but no worse for wear, his _I’m doing just fine_ cheerful smile plastered on to his face.

Bucky wants to kiss him – oh, does he want to kiss him. But not like this. Not when he doesn’t know what the hell is going on with Steve, why he left him in Wakanda, why they haven’t spoken in almost a year. How, after everything, Steve could suddenly decide that he didn’t need Bucky anymore.

Because that’s what it’s felt like, lately. That Steve had, for some reason or another, simply had enough of the whole “inseparable in both schoolyard and battlefield” thing. At least, it had seemed that way, until they both ended up here in this tropical paradise, playing at being together again.

As they walk to the beach, nodding to other guests on their way, they slip back into their roles. A beach attendant dressed in the resort’s signature turquoise polo shirt and khaki shorts greets them by name (Bucky will never really get tired of hearing them called “Mr. and Mr. Buchanan”) and guides them to two loungers with thick blue cushions. He promises to return in a few minutes to take their food and drink orders, which is good, because the protein bars Bucky ate on the bus this morning are now just a faint memory.

The beach is sprinkled with loungers in sets of two, blue and green striped umbrellas perched by each pair. The resort is exclusive enough that there is plenty of space between each couple’s location. There’s music coming from somewhere – hidden speakers, Bucky thinks, or maybe it’s just floating over from the bar.

Steve sits down on his chair and stretches out, arms above his head. A minute later he’s sitting up again, rummaging through the backpack, and pulls out a tube of sunscreen.

Bucky looks at him curiously, and Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “Don’t want to get burned,” he says, as if the serum wouldn’t take care of that by the next morning. Steve shrugs, popping the cap on the tube. “I have fair skin,” Steve says, in response to Bucky’s unasked question.

Steve strips off his t-shirt and spends a few minutes slathering lotion all over himself. Bucky closes his eyes and tries to think about the most unsexy things he can come up with, but given that he doesn’t actually want to give himself a panic attack right here by the ocean, he’s not very successful. 

“Do my back?” Steve asks, jostling Bucky out of his “think about bad things but not really bad things” spiral and destroying all his hard work.

Bucky doesn’t bother saying no to Steve – he doesn’t want to, and anyway, Steve would just argue with him until he gave in – and sets himself carefully on the lounger behind Steve. It’s high quality beach furniture, sure, but he still doesn’t want to break it; the two of them together weigh quite a bit, even if Bucky isn’t as bulked up as he used to be.

Steve hands him the lotion, and Bucky squeezes some into his flesh hand. He starts on top of Steve’s shoulder, which is already getting warm from the sun, and then slides down to a shoulder blade. After a few minutes he realizes he’s going more the massage route than he planned, but Steve is leaning just slightly into his touch, and he can’t bring himself to snap out of it.

He finally takes his hand off Steve when the waiter returns, and stumbles through ordering fish tacos and the drink of the day, some concoction of fruit juice and rum which will undoubtedly taste delicious and have absolutely no effect on him whatsoever. Steve orders the biggest burger on the menu, with bacon and blue cheese, and a plate of fried plantains on the side.

“You’re supposed to be a fitness enthusiast,” Bucky mutters as the waiter walks away. 

“I’m on vacation,” Steve replies matter-of-factly. He turns to look at Bucky over his shoulder, and then comes all the way around, facing him on the chair. “Your turn now.”

Bucky doesn’t know what Steve is talking about until he picks up the sunscreen.

“I don’t need any,” Bucky says, glancing at his own chest, already amply protected from the sun by his shirt.

“Just a little.” Steve squeezes some lotion out of the tube, and tilts his head at Bucky. “You don’t want your face to burn. Close your eyes.”

With a little sigh, Bucky does, and soon Steve’s fingertips are tracing his forehead, and sliding slowly over the slope of his nose. There’s not much skin to cover, given that his scruff takes care of the bottom part of his face, but Steve takes his time. His face is close enough to Bucky’s that he feels the puff of Steve’s breath against his skin, as Steve dots lotion on the tops of his ears, and over each cheekbone. Bucky realizes he’s holding on to Steve’s bicep to steady himself, and he quickly lets go.

“I think you have them convinced,” Bucky says, his eyes still closed.

“Hmm?” Steve says. He pulls his hand back, and Bucky opens his eyes, blinking.

“Our cover. I think everyone gets it now.”

Steve looks a little hurt, and Bucky wants to kick himself. Because this little scene – the way Steve was touching him, so gently, so tenderly – that wasn’t playing a part. That was real.

“Sure, Buck. You’re right.”

The waiter shows up with their food on a little wooden table he places between the loungers, and Bucky returns to his own chair. They eat their lunch quietly, feet in the sand, the sound of steel drums and the lap of the ocean waves in the background.

After they finish eating Steve gets up to go for a walk – ostensibly to check and see if Jason or Muller is around. Bucky hopes it isn’t to get away from him, although if it was, it really wouldn’t mean that much. Even when things were good between them, sometimes one or the other of them needed a break. It wasn’t as if they never fought. In fact, sometimes it seemed like they were bickering all the time. It’s just that back then Bucky never doubted that no matter what stupid-ass things they said to each other, it wouldn’t make any real difference. They’d always come back together in the end, apologize through a look or a kiss and tumble into bed to clear away any lingering misunderstandings.

Now, though, there’s no solid ground to start from. Steve could walk away tomorrow and never come back. Hell, when they finish this mission, that’s probably what he’s going to do. 

The thought hurts so much Bucky feels like crying – which is exactly, precisely, why this ridiculous mission is such a bad idea. He hopes at least when it’s over Steve goes back to driving Sam crazy – Sam deserves it, for setting up the whole mess. He’s contemplating texting Sam a piece of his mind when Steve returns.

He stands next to the lounger, fingers in the slightly too-small pockets of his also slightly too small red shorts, looking up towards the resort.

“No sign of them?” Bucky asks.

“Nope,” Steve says, scanning the beach. “I did run into that guy from the tour this morning – Benjamin?”

Bucky thinks back to the morning. It seems awfully far away now, the bus ride and posing for pictures and the haunted plantation house. “The English guy?”

“Yeah. Says he’s going on the speedboat tour tomorrow, wants to know if we want to come too.”

“Thought they only did it on weekends?”

“Alvaro’s running a special tour tomorrow, with a group from the resort.” 

Bucky studies Steve, wonders what he wants to do, what he wants Bucky to say. Steve has his thinking face on, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Just because Jason’s family owns the charter boat company doesn’t mean the tour will shed any light on Muller. And they’ve already spent one morning listening to Alvaro wax poetic about tourist nonsense. But their alternate plan for tomorrow was to read through a package of detailed information on drug trafficking that Jemma sent them, and wander around chatting up obsequious hotel staff, so…

“I’ve never been on a speedboat,” Bucky says, making up his mind.

“No?”

Bucky can see the smile start to tug at the corners of Steve’s mouth. “Nope.”

Steve glances down at Bucky, meeting his eyes with a flash of shining blue. “I’ll go tell him, then? Be right back?”

“Sure.” Bucky lies down on his side, letting himself watch Steve jog away. Whoever picked out those shorts sure did the world a favor, he thinks. The man has a good ass, it can’t be denied. 

Steve comes back a few minutes later, but still doesn’t sit down. Damn kid never could sit still.

“Want to go for a swim?” Bucky surprises himself a little with the question, but he’s getting sweaty under his supposedly breathable shirt. They’re at one of the most gorgeous beaches in the Caribbean, they might as well take advantage of it.

Steve nods and Bucky gets up, stowing his sunglasses in the backpack. They walk down to the water’s edge, and Steve sidles up next to Bucky.

“You sure it’s ok, with your…” His eyes flicker down to Bucky’s arm.

Bucky snorts. “Even with the old one, I could swim better than you.” It’s probably not even true, but he did manage to pull Steve out of the Potomac when his mind was still a disaster, and he’s taking full credit for it.

Besides, his new arm is as perfect a thing as Shuri could design, and that includes making it just as functional in water as it is anywhere else. And it’s not going to threaten to drown him with its weight like the old one did. Bucky’s half convinced that if he wanted, Shuri would figure out how to make it fly, but he hasn’t really had a need for that kind of thing lately.

They wade out into the water, stepping gingerly over the little rocks and pointy shells. When it gets to about waist high Steve dives gracefully over the crest of a wave and starts swimming, leaving Bucky to play catch up.

It feels good as he starts moving, and he quickly gives up trying to catch Steve in favor of just enjoying himself. The further he gets from shore the more relaxing it is. The beach behind them is beautiful, sprinkled with colorful umbrellas and tall palm trees. The protected cove that gives the beach its private feel curves around to a rocky point, leading to the little marina where guests can rent kayaks and sailboats. 

He spins himself around, spotting Steve’s blond head dipping up and down as he shows off some fancy stroke. He’s headed towards a raft anchored out in the cove, and Bucky swims out to follow him.

Steve has already made himself comfortable on the raft by the time Bucky climbs up the ladder. Of course, since this resort doesn’t do anything half way, the space is adorned with terry-cloth covered pillows, and there’s a cabinet with chilled water bottles, little containers of fruit, and neatly folded towels, just so no guest has to go too long without all the comforts of home.

Steve tosses Bucky a water bottle, and he drinks the whole thing down, then lays out flat next to Steve. No one else is there, just the two of them soaking up the sun. The waves gently rock the raft, making rhythmic lapping noises. Every once in a while Bucky hears the music playing on the beach – it sounds like the steel drums are taking a break, and they’re playing something with a more country feel. _We can go hiking on Tuesday… with you I’d walk anywhere._

It’s incredibly soothing, and Bucky lets himself doze. Next to him Steve seems to be doing the same thing. At some point, Steve’s hand drifts towards Bucky, the side of his pinky just touching his wrist.

“Kinda different than Coney Island,” Steve says after a while, breaking the silence. It’s not unwelcome, though, and Bucky murmurs his agreement.

“Not nearly as many people,” Steve continues.

“And the water’s a lot warmer here.”

“Never could’ve imagined we’d be somewhere like this,” Steve says. He shifts, and Bucky turns to meet his eyes. “Wish I didn’t screw up, Buck.”

Bucky’s train of thought, calm and sundrenched as it was, comes shrieking to a halt. “What?”

“I screwed up. With you – with, with us. I’m sorry.” Steve’s face is so open, Bucky thinks he can see straight down inside him, back through time to when they were just dumb kids, falling in love despite themselves.

Bucky can’t seem to get his brain and his mouth to hook up. “Steve – what do you – are you-”

Steve’s gaze suddenly shifts, as they both hear a voice calling for help. Thoughts of HYDRA and victims in a basement flood Bucky’s mind as Steve stands up and dives off the raft.

Of course, it is immediately clear that the problem at hand has nothing to do with Muller or evil scientists. The voice is coming from a woman in the water, swimming awkwardly towards them. Steve gets to her before Bucky can decide whether he should jump in too. She hangs on Steve’s broad shoulders, catching her breath, as Bucky gets his own breathing under control.

“I got such an awful cramp,” she explains, when Steve has towed her to the raft. “Thought I was going to drown, it hurt so much.” Bucky reaches down and helps her up the ladder, as she thanks them both profusely. When she’s got a towel wrapped around her and a fruit cup by her side, she lets out a long sigh. “What an idiot I am.”

“Well, I’m Seth, and this is Jim,” Steve says, and the woman laughs on cue.

“Thank you for being so nice. I’m Wendy.” She’s a venture capitalist from New York, here with her wife of almost twenty years, Mariko. “How long have you two been together?” she asks politely.

“Oh, since we were kids, practically,” Steve responds, with a genuine fondness in his tone that makes Bucky shiver. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have tried to swim out here all by myself. You’d think I’d never heard of the buddy system.”

“Mariko didn’t want to come swimming?” Steve asks.

Wendy’s face falls. “No. She’s, um, she’s really sick.”

Bucky can tell that she doesn’t mean Stephanie has a cold. There’s a moment of terrible silence, and then Steve puts a hand on Wendy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Wendy pushes her wet hair out of her face, and takes a deep breath. “Thanks. It’s why we’re here, actually. We heard about an organization on the island doing drug trials… nothing FDA approved, of course, all black market. But it seemed like they might have something that could help her. Extravagantly priced, of course, and no guarantees.” She buries her face in her knees. “I sound like even more of an idiot now, don’t I?”

“No, not at all,” Steve says vehemently. “When it’s a question of saving someone you love, it’s worth any risk.”

The grateful look on Wendy’s face is nothing compared to the way the butterflies explode in Bucky’s stomach when Steve casts a pointed look in his direction.

“Yeah, well, we’ll never know,” Wendy says dejectedly.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks.

“They won’t accept her for the drug trial. She’s too far gone, or too old, or something, I don’t know. Too ethnic.”

“What?” Bucky can feel Steve stiffen next to him.

Wendy shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m probably just being crazy. But that asshole – pardon my French – took one look at Mariko and told us he couldn’t help.”

“The asshole didn’t happen to be Leopold Muller, did he?”

Wendy looks curiously at Bucky. “Yeah. How do you know him?” She looks worried. “Wait – are you sick…?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Steve intervenes, before Bucky can dig himself deeper. “We just met a friend of his at the bar the other night, he mentioned that Muller was in pharmaceuticals.”

Wendy seems to accept this, especially when Bucky adds “and he was a real jerk to the bartender.” They launch into a conversation about how rude people can be to wait staff, until Steve notices Wendy shivering under her towel and announces that it’s time to go.

They swim back to the beach together, Steve letting Wendy hang on his shoulders again when she gets tired. He practically carries her through the waves at the shore so she doesn’t get knocked over, and when they finally make it to dry land, she looks him up and down like she’s trying to figure out whether he’s some kind of superhero. Not the best way to keep their cover.

“Kind of amazing, isn’t he,” Bucky says with a smile he hopes isn’t too forced. “That’s what going to the gym six times a week does for you. But don’t mention it, it goes to his head.”

They all laugh, and Wendy seems to shake off whatever she was thinking about Steve. She thanks them again, and wishes them a good night.

Steve and Bucky go back to their lounge chairs. The weather is definitely cooling off, and before Bucky can suggest that maybe it’s time to go back to the villa, it starts to rain. 

They race down the path, flip-flops slapping against the stones. The rain is hardly colder than the air, and they were already wet from swimming, so neither of them is very bothered by the downpour.

Back inside, they stand by the door, dripping, as the storm outside intensifies. 

“So for dinner, do we go back out in the rain, or make room service come to us?” Steve thinks aloud.

“It’s a tropical storm. Should be over soon.” 

They keep the door open, watching as the sky darkens and lightning flashes across the sky. 

“You used to love thunderstorms,” Steve says.

“Still do. Except when they wreck my crops.” Bucky regrets his words as soon as he speaks – why did he have to mention Wakanda? Why couldn’t he have pulled out a nice, safe memory of some random night in Brooklyn when they were kids, or getting covered in mud with the Commandos?

But Steve rolls with it. “You’re growing those special beans, right?” he asks. 

Bucky grins. “They’re not magic or anything.”

“I should hope not. Wouldn’t want to call down a giant from the sky.”

They both exchange a look – been there, done that as far as big tall terrible giants go. They’re already standing close, shoulder to shoulder as they gaze out at the storm, and Steve rocks against him. “Tell me more about your special definitely-not-magic-beans.”

Bucky can’t help but be a little bit proud as he explains about his and Shuri’s work to create a more nutritious, hardier bean, and the success of his latest crop.

“Good timing, then,” Steve says.

“What do you mean?”

“That your harvest was finished. So you could come on this mission.”

Bucky turns to look at him. The coincidence is strange, now that he thinks about it. “Yeah, kind of weird, actually.”

Steve meets his eyes. “You think Sam waited until you were free to tell you about this?”

Bucky shrugs. “That would mean Jemma was in on it too, and that somebody decided that taking Muller down could wait for the beans to finish growing.”

“Yeah.” Steve looks back out at a particularly bright burst of lightening. “Must be a coincidence.”

Bucky’s not so sure, but then his level of paranoia generally runs higher than the norm. He makes a note to ask Jemma about it, though. Just to be sure.

The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, so they finally close the door. Bucky hits the shower while Steve sends another report to Jemma. When Bucky comes out he throws on sweatpants and a t-shirt, not wanting to get dressed up until they figure out where they’re going.

He finds Steve half-asleep on the couch, a turquoise throw blanket pulled up to his chin. He blinks up at Bucky, who can’t help but laugh.

“Saving the world tire you out?” he asks, and Steve chucks a decorative pillow at him.

“It was just a nap.” Steve struggles and sits up. “So – dinner?” He takes in Bucky’s outfit, and tilts his head. “Maybe room service now, work later?”

Bucky nods. “That sounds good.” He sits down on the chair by the coffee table – there’s hardly room on the couch for both of them, and Steve still seems somewhat damp. “I’m kind of beat, too.”

Steve tells Bucky to order for him while he showers, and Bucky peruses the menu. He’s not really in the mood for anything but skipping meals is never good for him, and he knows Steve is the same way. Finally he orders paella for both of them, with chocolate cake for dessert, and chugs down a protein shake for good measure when he gets off the phone.

Steve takes forever in the shower – Bucky tries not to think about what he’s doing in there. Steve’s never been particularly vain, and he doesn’t have any wounds to dress, at least not that Bucky’s aware of. By the time he comes out, the food has arrived, and they sit down at the table to eat.

Partway through the meal they both seem to pick up steam, and Steve opens up his laptop.

“Want to hear what Jemma found out about Wendy and Mariko?” he asks.

“Didn’t waste any time, did she?” Bucky responds.

“Nope.” Steve scrolls down on his computer. “Everything Wendy said checks out. Apparently she found out about Muller’s organization on this blog.” Steve turns the computer so that Bucky can see it. “The black market for experimental drugs isn’t hard to find, although I guess finding a reputable source is.”

“Are there any reputable sources for unapproved drugs?”

“Depends what you mean by ‘unapproved,’” Steve responds. “Drugs might be approved in one country, just not another.”

“I’m guessing this drug isn’t approved anywhere?”

Steve huffs. “Obviously not. The blog doesn’t even say what it’s really called, or what it’s composed of. It’s all vague references.”

“Wendy and Mariko came down here for nothing.”

“Yup. And they paid for the privilege, too.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks.

“In order to even get an appointment with Muller, they had to pay him five thousand dollars.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky pulls the laptop closer and starts typing furiously.

“Buck? What are you doing?”

He hits send and shows the email to Steve. He sent a message to Sam, with a hint that he might want to talk to Stark about sending a donation from his medical research foundation to Mariko.

“Seems the least we can do to make it up to them.”

“Bucky, that’s – that’s a really good thought. I bet Tony will jump right on that.”

Bucky isn’t thrilled with the note of surprise in Steve’s voice. “What, did you think I was going to order a drone strike on Muller? I would, but I assume if we could take care of this problem that easily, we’d have done it already.”

“No, that’s not… it’s just a good idea, that’s all. I’m glad you thought of it.”

“I’m gonna text Shuri, too,” Bucky mumbles, getting embarrassed. “They’ve got all kinds of cool medical stuff in Wakanda.”

Steve reaches over and gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze, and holds his gaze just long enough for Bucky to have to suppress a squirm. Then Steve stands up and changes the subject. “So – ready to hit the club? See what we can find out?”

“Yeah, sure. Might as well enjoy ourselves,” Bucky says with a pout, and Steve laughs. 

“This mission really is a tough one, isn’t it?” Steve says. “What with all the beaches and free food and fruity cocktails.”

“Do you think they’ll have more interesting drinks at the club?” Bucky asks. “That special of the day was really good.”

“If you like bright pink drinks that taste like cotton candy,” Steve says, with a hint of disdain.

Bucky grins. “Apparently I do.”


	4. Chapter 4

The resort actually has several bars and nightclubs. There’s still music coming from the little bar on the beach, the omnipresent steel drum band playing “One Love” again. At the pool is a fairly well attended dance party near a tropical themed hut with palm fronds on the roof. A quick walk confirms that Jason and Muller aren’t in attendance at either location.

Neither is their target in the jazz club off the lobby, or the piano bar. 

“Guess we’re going to ‘Rendevous,’” Steve says, leading them up the stairs to the second floor, and inadvertently – probably – giving Bucky an excellent view of his ass. He’s not sure how Steve manages to make khakis look this good (for the second night in a row – is there anything else in his closet?), but Steve pulls it off.

“Kind of a lame name for a nightclub, isn’t it?” Bucky asks, looking at the glittery letters adorning the entrance to the club.

Steve shrugs. “Can’t tell a book by its cover.”

Bucky understands, sometimes, why Sam teases Steve about being an old man. 

The club is doing its best, with neon colored lights and loud music, and a large mirror ball in the center. Steve and Bucky find their way to the bar, and Steve leans across to the bartender to be heard. Soon two neon green drinks in martini glasses are placed in front of them, and Bucky smiles.

Steve shrugs, maybe a little bit embarrassed. “You seemed to be enjoying your colorful drink earlier today.”

Bucky takes a sip and gives his lips a little smack. “It’s pretty tasty.” He dips his fingers into the glass and pulls out the cherry, holding it by the stem and popping the rest in his mouth. “Thanks.”

“Anything for my guy,” Steve says, and Bucky must show too much of his gratitude on his face, as Steve quickly turns away, both of them caught in the act of caring. Damn it, Steve, he thinks, we’re supposed to be playing pretend.

The moment is lost when Steve spots Jason on the dance floor, and gives Bucky a nudge with his hip. “Go dance with him.”

Bucky frowns. “Why me?”

Steve doesn’t bother answering, just shoves Bucky again. 

“You know perfectly well how to dance,” Bucky mutters, taking a moment to finish up his drink. “You just want me to do all the work.” He undoes another button on his gray shirt, with a smirk back at Steve, who looks like he’s really wishing he could give him the finger in return. Laughing to himself Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him off the stool.

“Let’s start off together,” he whispers in Steve’s ear, telling himself it will be more convincing that way. “Then I’ll chat up Jason.”

Steve acquiesces, and they ease their way through the crowd, trying not to make it obvious that they’re heading for the group of people Jason’s dancing with.

Of course, just as they approach, a slow song comes on. Steve gets a panicked look on his face, but Bucky puts his big boy pants on and pulls him close. Steve stiffens up, then goes lax against Bucky, one arm coming up around his shoulders, the other at the small of his back. 

Bucky lets himself rest his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve does the same. He breathes in Steve’s scent, same as always, but with a little added sunscreen. 

They move together easily, a gentle rhythm back and forth. Bucky sighs, not meaning to make a sound, but he can tell Steve hears him. Steve brushes Bucky’s hair back over his ear, and leaves his fingers cupping the back of Bucky’s head.

It’s as if the past year of heartbreak and misunderstanding is gone, or at least suspended, replaced with the sheer joy of being close to one another. Bucky nudges at Steve’s neck with his nose, and Steve hums into his ear. 

Bucky wants to freeze time, to stay here forever. This isn’t Steve putting on a show for their cover, he’s almost sure of it. He knows he should say something, ask Steve what’s going on, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to lose the way his heart is thrumming excitedly in his chest, not if Steve’s going to prove him wrong.

But like all good things in Bucky’s life, this moment comes to an end. The slow song concludes, and the DJ starts playing an upbeat number with a Caribbean feel. Bucky and Steve untangle themselves, and Bucky wonders if the flash of regret across Steve’s face is a wish that the moment could have continued, or guilt over it happening at all.

When they finally re-engage with the rest of the world, Bucky swinging his hips while Steve does his patented barely acceptable two-step, they dance their way a little closer to their target. 

Jason’s dancing in a group with three other men, none of whom are Muller – which is a good thing, as far as Bucky is concerned. They’re all young, and two of them are strikingly handsome. Bucky joins in, letting Steve move away as planned. One of the handsome men turns to let Bucky join the circle. Bucky decides after a few minutes that he and the other model-like guy must be employees, and his suspicion is confirmed when the man introduces himself as Mario and starts quizzing him about what activities he’s been enjoying at the resort.

This actually gives Bucky a good opening. He mentions how excited he is about the speedboat cruise the next day, which catches Jason’s attention. Jason dances over to him. He’s a good looking kid, rocking a white tank top and skinny jeans, and is seemingly pleased with everything around him.

“Hey, I’m Jason,” he starts off, and Bucky barely restrains himself from saying “I know.” They exchange small talk about the tour the next day, Jason confessing that he’s useless on boats but generally happy to be out on the water if all he is responsible for is providing the beer. 

Bucky tries to steer the conversation towards Muller, but Jason either can’t hear what he’s saying when he asks what “Leo” does, or is better at deflecting than his frat boy persona suggests. Finally the DJ takes a break and another slow number comes on, so Bucky excuses himself and returns to the bar.

There are two shot glasses in front of Steve when Bucky returns. 

“Hey.” Bucky takes the stool next to Steve, and nods when the bartender asks if he wants another drink. “What’s going on?”

Steve fixes his eyes on Bucky, biting his lip a little. “Benjamin was here. He sent these to us.”

“The English guy?”

Steve nods. “He may have…” Steve’s face is flushing. “He may have asked if we wanted to join him and his partner.”

“For a drink?”

Steve’s getting redder. “No, Buck,” he says, apparently annoyed that Bucky can’t read his mind. “Not just for a _drink_.” 

Bucky laughs. “Oh, okay.” He leans past Steve and sees Benjamin down at the end of the bar, and gives him a little salute. “What did you tell him?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just glares at Bucky.

“I don’t know, he’s a little short but he’s kind of cute. And that accent… Maybe he’d be into a bit of Sherlock Holmes role play? We could find him a tweed jacket with some patches on the sleeves?”

“Shut up,” Steve says. 

“Why? It might be fun. You’ve always prided yourself on being open minded.” Bucky’s joking, of course. He’s got no interest in a foursome, nor would he be even if he and Steve were together. Regardless, riling Steve up has always been one of his favorite pastimes. This time, however, Steve doesn’t seem to be enjoying it.

“I mean it, cut it out.”

“Steve?” Bucky leans over and puts his hand on Steve’s thigh. “What’s wrong?”

Steve shakes his head, and won’t meet Bucky’s eyes. “Don’t want to share you. Not that I have any right to you, I fucked that up already. But don’t make me joke about it.”

Bucky feels his head spin. It’s twice in one day now that Steve has said something like this, expressing real regret at the way things ended between them. And with the way they were dancing earlier… Bucky’s starting to think he should be paying a little more attention, even if it’s a topic that makes him want to run screaming through the palm trees. If Steve is so upset about their estrangement, does that mean he wants it to change? Or is he just mad at himself for not being better behaved?

“Hey man, what’s that?” Jason has appeared at the bar on Bucky’s other side, and he’s motioning to Bucky’s cocktail.

“Appletini,” Bucky says, unapologetic. “It’s good, you should try one.”

Jason makes a face. “Can’t drink apple stuff. Leo’s allergic to apples.” He orders two mojitos, and tells the bartender to bring them over to his table. “See you around.”

Bucky takes a long sip from his drink, and then speaks softly to Steve without turning his head. “Did you catch that?”

Steve nods. “Apparently Muller’s got the same kind of ‘allergy’ as the Orchid House family.” 

“Do you think…?”

Steve stands up, wiping his hands on his slacks. His face is carefully blank. “Want to head back?”

They’ve got better hearing than most, thanks to the serum, and so are relatively sure that they can whisper and be heard only by each other. But it’s safer not to risk it.

Back at the villa, they shoot off a message to Jemma, including a request for information on Benjamin and his partner, and then Steve paces around for a while, musing about whether Muller could be related to the family that owned the Orchid House.

“Jemma will figure it out,” Bucky says. “I’m just glad you got over your aversion to fruity cocktails. Pink and green drinks in the same day – what will we have tomorrow?”

“Screw you,” Steve says lightly.

The words pop out of Bucky’s mouth unbidden. “You wish.” 

Steve’s face falls, and for a moment Bucky is completely sure he’s going to reply “I do” to Bucky’s poorly thought out jibe. But Steve recovers, standing up and giving an over exaggerated stretch, his ridiculously defined abs on full display.

“I think I’m gonna turn in,” Steve says. The teasing tone is gone, replaced with Steve’s best “I’m ignoring this situation and putting my head in the sand” voice. Bucky feels his stomach clench, as he’s reminded of too many nights like this, back in Wakanda after the Thanos mess. 

Neither of them are any good at talking about their problems, and apparently nothing has changed. 

Bucky sits silently at the table for a few minutes, listening to Steve brush his teeth and shove drawers open and closed. _That dresser never did anything to you, bud,_ he thinks to himself. He knows he could force the issue, but then again, he’s not the one bringing it up and then pouting. Bucky was prepared to conduct this mission in as professional a manner as possible under the circumstances, and then slink back to his lonely little farm. It’s Steve that keeps rocking the proverbial boat, and right now, Bucky wishes he would just sit the hell down. 

He considers turning on the television, or finding a book to read, or even – god forbid – looking through the materials Shuri sent him on drug manufacturing and black market pharma. But it’s been a long day, and in the end, the draw of knowing Steve is lying in bed, maybe even waiting for Bucky to join him, is just too much to resist.

Bucky repeats the same getting ready routine that Steve just completed – although with less trauma to the dresser drawers – and is soon in his sleep pants and t-shirt. He slides under the covers and tries not to fidget. It’s tremendously unlikely that Steve is already asleep, and yet he’s not saying a word.

If things were different, Bucky would throw a leg over Steve’s narrow waist and tug him close, kiss him over and over until his pout was defeated. But that’s not in the cards for tonight.

He tries out a million different things in his head, desperate not to let them go to sleep on such a sour note. Finally he gives up, and just tries to speak his mind.

“I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

The blankets rustle, and Steve turns over. “You are?” 

Bucky’s throat tightens at the fragile note in Steve’s voice. He turns on his side, facing him. “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “Muller scares the crap out of me.”

There’s a long pause. “Buck…” Steve sits up, and turns on the bedside light. “Bucky.” They haven’t really talked about the fact that this is Bucky’s first mission since the disaster with Thanos, or that Muller’s face is an echo of some of Bucky’s worst nightmares. 

“It’s all right.” Bucky sits up too, the blankets falling to his waist.

“No, it’s not, but…” Steve takes both of Bucky’s hands in his, and holds them tight. “I’ll be with you, no matter what. Against Muller, against anyone… whatever you need. Whatever happens. Even if we’re not…” Steve stalls, then shakes his head. “No matter what, you’ve got me. Always. You know that, right?”

Bucky’s trembling, but Steve just grips his hands tighter, the metal one and the flesh. “Yeah, I know it.”

“Good.” Steve stares at him for a long moment. “Good.” He lets go of Bucky, and runs a hand through his hair. 

Bucky takes a deep breath, and then lies back down on the bed. Steve is still sitting up, looking a little lost.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Turn out the light and lie down.”

Steve focuses on Bucky, and nods. “Yeah, sorry. Guess I got a little worked up.”

Steve lies down, and Bucky scoots closer to him and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, then flops back on to his pillow. “Thank you.”

“’s nothing, Buck.”

It’s not nothing. It’s everything. But Bucky thinks they’ve both had as much feelings for tonight as they can take.

“Good night, Steve,” he says, trying to pour his love into the simple words.

“’Night, pal.”

Bucky’s prepared to lie awake for a good long while, turning over the events of the day – and the night. But to his surprise, he falls asleep quickly. He dreams of lying in the hot sun, the sounds of waves lapping against a raft, and Steve at his side.

*****

Bucky wakes up with his nose in Steve’s armpit. For a moment it just feels familiar, if a little sweaty, and then Bucky remembers that they are _not_ together, and definitely should _not_ be wrapped around each other like strands of strawberry licorice.

He tries to slide his arm out from underneath Steve’s neck, but Steve just hums at him and tightens his hold around Bucky’s waist.

Bucky considers just going back to sleep – he’s comfortable enough, and clearly Steve isn’t bothered – but they have work to do, and putting off the unenviable moment of awkward isn’t going to make it any better.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, giving him a little shake with the hand that isn’t trapped under Steve’s body. “Time to get up.”

The words register, and Steve blinks his eyes open. “Oh, yeah.” Steve’s eyes widen, as he realizes what’s going on, and then he laughs, his voice sleep-rough and soft. “Sorry, Buck,” he says with a frankly adorable smile. If he doesn’t cut it out soon, Bucky thinks, they’re going to miss the speedboat tour – which at the moment doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“I’m not sorry,” he says carefully, holding Steve’s gaze. “But…” he takes a deep breath, and kicks himself in whatever portion of his brain has decided to be responsible – definitely not the part that is doing somersaults over the way Steve is looking at him – “we have to be in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

Steve crinkles his nose, and Bucky can see him at seventeen, moaning over having to get up and go to school. “Fine. But you’re making breakfast.”

Bucky snorts as they pull apart, turning away from each other to get out of bed. “That would be a more meaningful threat if I didn’t know you just want some of those donut things from the buffet.”

“And some fruit. With yogurt and granola.”

“I think I can handle it.”

 

It feels a little like déjà vu when they meet Alvaro and the others in the lobby. Benjamin is there, of course, and he introduces them to his husband, Reyansh (“call me Rey”), along with two younger men and two middle-aged women.

Bucky can’t help but tease Steve again about Benjamin’s proposition from the night before. “I don’t know, Steve,” he whispers into his ear when they get into the van. “Rey’s got a kind of movie star thing going, don’t you think?” Steve isn’t as upset about his teasing this time around, which Bucky takes as a good sign.

The speedboat is a beautiful vessel, clearly top of the line. Its dark blue hull stretches out long against the dock, and Alvaro grins at them as he helps each passenger step on board.

“We’ll be going pretty fast,” Alvaro says, as he gathers them together and shows them where to stow their shoes. “If you sit up front, you get the best views – but there will be a lot of motion. Sit in the back and you get a smoother ride. You might get wet, though, Suzie,” he warns one of the women, who takes a seat in the back with her partner.

“No problem,” Suzie replies. The other woman opens the stylish tote bag she has slung over her shoulder and pulls out two cute black ball caps. “We don’t mind.”

Steve and Bucky head up to the sundeck on the bow, along with the two younger men, who introduce themselves as Teddy and Jake. Benjamin and his husband stay in the back. Steve seems satisfied at this turn of events, and Bucky can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Steve asks, keeping his voice low.

“You got nothing to worry about, pal,” Bucky replies. How Steve can really be worried that Bucky would hook up with a stranger is beyond him. He’s not above feeling a little bit of pleasure at Steve’s possessive streak, however.

The sundeck has thick cushions on the two benches lining the bow, and they figure out why soon enough. As the boat revs up to its full speed and exits the harbor, it begins to bounce up and down, slamming over the waves in a ride that’s almost painful.

Across from them, Teddy is leaning back, Jake seated between his stretched out legs, Teddy’s arm protectively holding Jake to his chest. They’re obviously deep in the thralls of young love, and Bucky is frankly jealous.

But then Steve shifts and encourages Bucky to lean up against him the same way, and all jealousy flees from his mind. He leans back against Steve’s ridiculous pecs, the warmth of him seeping through his t-shirt. It takes them a few shifts to get comfortable as the boat goes up and down over the waves, but soon Bucky is tucked securely against Steve’s broad chest.

Alvaro talks for a few minutes through the speakers about where they’re going, and then he puts on music. It’s a little loud for Bucky’s tastes, but there’s something about speeding through the water, pop tunes blaring, that makes him smile. 

“Happy vacation,” Steve whispers in his ear. Bucky has no idea whether Steve is serious or not, but it’s along the lines of what he was thinking, too. Mission or no, the past few days have been a vacation from his regular life.

He glances over to Teddy and Jake, and wonders what it would be like if this wasn’t such a departure from reality, if it was just a much anticipated trip with your best guy. Yup, he thinks. Still kind of jealous.

A few minutes later one of the women – Suzie, Bucky remembers - pulls herself carefully to the bow and sits down behind Jake, one hand hanging on to her cap to keep it from flying off her head. “You didn’t put on sunscreen,” she says to the boy, almost yelling over the sound of the music.

Jake sits up, dislodging Teddy. “Mom, I’m fine.”

Bucky can feel Steve laughing silently behind him. Suzie looks over to the two of them and shrugs, then back at Jake. “Fine. Don’t whine to me later about sunburn, then.”

The woman returns to her seat in the stern, and Jake defiantly holds the tube of sunscreen she gave him, not making any move to use it.

Steve shifts a little. “Hey, bud, mind if I use some?”

“Don’t make trouble,” Bucky whispers to Steve.

“Sunscreen is important, Jim, we had this discussion yesterday,” Steve replies, winking at Bucky. 

Jake and Teddy sit up, Jake handing the sunscreen over. Steve removes his t-shirt and coats himself in lotion, then has Bucky do his face (he’s got his rash guard shirt on again, so it’s a quicker job). Then Steve gives Jake the lotion back with a stern look, and soon the two boys strip off their shirts and coat each other in sunscreen, laughing the whole time.

“You’re such a dad,” Bucky mumbles as they arrange themselves back on the cushion, Steve once again pulling Bucky against his chest.

“Skin cancer is serious business,” Steve replies, still using his PSA voice. “Just looking out for them.”

The boat finally slows, and Alvaro anchors it close to a sandy beach. “This is Rose Island,” he tells them. “Only accessible by boat. There’s pretty much nothing on this side except a few caves – you’d have to hike through the brush to even see any other people. Take a noodle with you and go have fun.”

Alvaro tells them they have an hour to explore, and people start jumping into the water to swim to shore, each taking a floaty “noodle” as he suggested.

Bucky and Steve hang back, trying to arrange it so that they are the last ones left on the boat and can get Alvaro alone, but Suzie apparently isn’t going to swim at all, so they give up and jump in.

The water is refreshing, and they kick around lazily for a little while, playing with the floats, before turning towards the shore and climbing up on to the beach.

It’s a beautiful place, an empty little crescent of soft sand, rimmed by rocks, bushes, and shrubs with pretty pink flowers.

“Want to see the caves?” Steve asks, pointing towards one side of the beach where the rocks pile up.

“Sure.”

Bucky thinks maybe they’ll have a few minutes to talk freely, but when they get closer to the caves, they see that Benjamin and Rey are just coming out. They all exchange small talk for a minute, and then Steve and Bucky take a turn looking inside. It’s cool and dim, but not much of a cave, hardly big enough for the two of them to turn around, and before long they’re back out on the beach.

“The real caves are on the main island,” Benjamin says as they all walk back towards the boat. “Tunnels, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks. “Have you seen them?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping we can check them out later.”

Back on the boat, Alvaro is handing out beer from a cooler, and Suzie is passing around little bags of chips. They head out at a more sedate pace, letting everyone get settled as they cross the bay.

Bucky slips into the spot where Steve had been sitting, and smirks up at him as he finishes his beer and sits down.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Bucky says, holding Steve’s gaze. Steve doesn’t falter, pulling his legs up onto the bench and leaning back against Bucky. Bucky stows his half-empty beer in a nearby cupholder, and wraps his flesh arm around Steve’s chest. Steve’s hair is wet and salty, and tickles Bucky’s nose, but he’s not about to complain.

Alvaro takes them closer to the island’s shore as they continue their trip, pointing out the runway that’s so close to the beach that people gather to stare up and take photos as the jets land, and the elaborate houses of the rich and famous.

“Think Stark’s got a place here?” Steve asks, leaning his head back to whisper at Bucky.

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“He used to have a big house in California, but it kind of got exploded into the ocean,” Steve says. “Might make him reconsider the water view.”

Bucky laughs, shaking Steve just a little. Steve settles back down, a soft smile on his face.

Alvaro turns the speedboat as they come around the point at the southern end of the island. The wind seems to pick up, and the boat is once again starting to move up and down with the water. Alvaro revs the engine and takes them on a wild ride for the next fifteen minutes, everyone holding on with both hands and squealing as they crash through the waves.

When the boat slows down again, they’re all grinning at each other, soaked and flustered and generally pretty well amused. Benjamin slides up to the bow to get another beer from the cooler, and then nods at Steve and Bucky.

“Captain says we can’t stop at the tunnels today, wind’s coming from the wrong direction, or something,” he says conversationally. 

Alvaro catches his words and steps around to explain, one hand still on the wheel.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s a tricky inlet even when it’s calm, but with the chop like it is today…” he shakes his head. “Not worth the risk. Jason’s dad will kill me if I screw up the boat, and letting passengers drown…” Alvaro makes a silly face at them. “Well, it’s frowned upon.”

They all laugh, as intended. But Benjamin isn’t letting it go.

“I really wanted to see the tunnels. Is there any other way to get there?”

Alvaro shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Besides, it’s not as if you can go in them. They’re really old – not safe at all.”

“I thought you said they connected Orchid Hall to the beach?”

“That’s what Jason told me. But I don’t think he meant that people still used them. I’ve certainly never actually been in there.” Alvaro returns to his spot behind the wheel, clearly having exhausted his patience for the conversation. Benjamin grumbles a little, but eventually chugs his beer and goes back to sit with Rey.

Bucky can practically hear the wheels turning in Steve’s head. Tunnels from Orchid Hall to a secluded cove that can only be reached by boat? Sounds like the perfect set-up for getting illegal substances off the island.

Back at the marina, they all thank Alvaro and traipse back to the resort. Steve and Bucky are quiet as they walk, salty water from their shorts dripping down into their sneakers. They stop by the snack bar and grab wraps with seasoned chicken and rice, eating messily as they continue down the path. When they reach the villa, Steve shuts the door behind them, and then does a quick check of the place, making sure none of the cleaning staff are there, that their anti-bugging devices are still working, and that all windows are closed.

“Well,” Steve says, as they look at each other, both knowing that the time has come to address what they learned. “Want to shower first, or skype Jemma?”

Bucky volunteers to skype Jemma while Steve cleans up. They talk for a few minutes about what to tell her, then Steve gets in the shower. When Steve finishes in the bathroom, Bucky heads in, trying not to notice how good that towel slung low on Steve’s hips looks.

Bucky turns the water on and sits down on the toilet seat with a sigh. He wrenches his shirt off over his head, and tosses it on the shower floor to remind himself to rinse it off. He does the same with the cover for his arm, and then debates with himself for another few minutes before detaching the whole thing and setting it down carefully on the counter next to the sink.

The arm is built to withstand almost anything, but Bucky thinks that after these past few days of immersion in salt water and sand, it could use a more thorough cleaning. Plus his shoulder is aching after leaving his arm on constantly since arriving at the resort.

He cleans the metal plates with one of the facecloths stacked neatly in a basket next to the sink, along with good old soap and water. There’s a panel that is sticking, and not surprisingly, he finds a little bit of sand under it. Then he rinses the whole thing under the shower spray, and stands it in the sink to dry. 

It might look weird to someone less familiar with the whole process, but to Bucky, it’s just part of his regular routine. Finally done with maintenance on his prosthesis, he gets into the shower and cleans the rest of himself, breathing in the coconut scent of the shampoo and conditioner provided by the resort.

By the time he gets out of the shower, trims his beard, and pulls on some sweatpants, he’s so deep into his self-care routine he almost forgets to be concerned with how Steve might view it all, especially since he used to keep the old version of his arm on almost constantly. But as he walks into the living room and sees the look on Steve’s face, it all comes rushing back.

“Buck… you okay?” 

He resists the urge to cover his shoulder stump with his hand, and takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Just needed a break.”

Steve steps closer, a little hesitant. “Thought your new arm was lighter?”

“It is.” Bucky bites his lip. “It’s a real good arm. But it’s still attached to the rest of me.”

Steve’s eyes flicker to the metal covering his shoulder. After Bucky came out of cryo and had his triggers removed, the Wakandan doctors had wanted to move on to tinkering with what was left under the metal, and how his arm had been secured to the rest of his body. But Bucky had been tired of medical procedures, and Steve had supported him. 

From the way Steve nods sympathetically, he’s still on board. “I get it.”

They sit down at the table to go over the newest material Jemma sent over. Bucky realizes that maybe he should have continued the process of getting dressed – Steve is wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a button-up open over it, while Bucky is half naked. Oh well. The cool breeze from the ceiling fan feels good on his damp skin, and Steve’s seen it all before.

After a few minutes, when it’s clear that the existing maps of the island Jemma has found don’t show any tunnels leading from Orchid Hall to anywhere else on the island, Steve sits back in his chair and fixes Bucky with a knowing look.

“You’re sore.”

And the sky is blue, Bucky thinks. Steve must have noticed how he keeps shifting in his seat, his shoulder twinging every time he reaches for the laptop. “Yeah.”

“Will you let me help?”

Bucky knows what Steve is referring to, and his heart skips a beat, even though Steve’s offer is delivered in the most matter of fact manner. It’s not what most people would consider romantic, but then again, they’re not most people.

“Yeah, um, just a sec.” Bucky goes into the bedroom and finds the salve Queen Ramonda gave him – she’s apparently had her share of muscle pain. He smiles to himself, remembering how uncomfortable he was with Ramonda at first, even though she had seemed as willing as Shuri to treat him almost like family.

Steve is waiting for him when he comes back. Bucky hands him the salve and makes himself comfortable on a bench, leaning forward with his arm on the dining table. Steve puts his big hands on the back of his neck and begins to rub, sliding his fingers under Bucky’s corded necklace. Bucky rests his head on the smooth wood of the table, and lets out a long sigh.

“Feel okay?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods, his stubble rubbing on his arm.

“Yeah. It’s great.”

Bucky has been on the receiving end of Steve’s magic fingers many times, but it’s been more than a year, and Bucky doesn’t think it has ever felt _this_ good. He can feel his muscles relaxing, tension draining out of not just his shoulder but everywhere. His traitorous body knows Steve’s touch, and welcomes it.

From Bucky’s neck, Steve works out to his shoulders – easier to do on the side not covered in metal. Where his stump is, Steve just works with it. He focuses on the muscles that he can touch, knowing that they extend underneath the metal, coaxing them into submission.

Steve pauses, and Bucky hopes he isn’t done – but he’s just getting more salve. Moving down Bucky’s back, he falls into a rhythm, putting more pressure on the sore spots around Bucky’s spine. When he makes it all the way down to Bucky’s waist, he moves back up again, keeping his movements steady and soothing.

Not content yet, Steve leans over Bucky’s back to work on his right arm. His body is warm up against Bucky’s exposed skin, and he’s stretched out over him, using both hands to work the muscles in Bucky’s bicep and forearm. 

It’s so good, with Steve surrounding him, Steve’s chest up against his back, that Bucky doesn’t ever want it to end. Steve doesn’t seem to, either, taking his time, carefully massaging each of Bucky’s fingers and the muscles of his hand. 

Steve’s face is close to Bucky’s as he reaches down to continue working on Bucky’s arm. It occurs to Bucky that Steve could have easily moved around to finish this part of the job. He probably doesn’t need to drape his entire body over Bucky’s, pressing against him as he moves his hands up and down Bucky’s arm. And Steve probably doesn’t need to have his mouth quite so nearby, lips parted and breath skating over Bucky’s skin.

Bucky’s mind has almost finished processing this thought and what it might mean when Steve turns his head and finds Bucky’s lips with his own. Bucky thinks he might squeal just a little bit, but any sound is quickly swallowed by the kiss. They slot together effortlessly, each moving towards the other, Steve’s hands on Bucky’s shoulders, Bucky shifting to let his hand drop to Steve’s waist.

It starts off slow, gentle, a continuation of the caresses Steve was giving Bucky with his hands. Bucky can almost convince himself that it’s simply an extension of the massage, no big deal, they’re friends and they care about each other and they’ve had a long day and…

Bucky gives up on this rationalization as Steve deepens the kiss, cupping Bucky’s face with one hand and licking into his mouth. He feels a jolt of electricity run through him, and then all bets are off. It’s heated and just this side of desperate, and then Steve is swinging around to straddle Bucky, the whole heavy warm weight of him landing on Bucky’s lap, and it feels incredible.

Bucky slides his fingers under the front of Steve’s cotton t-shirt and up the muscles of his stomach, and then Steve is leaning back and stripping off both his shirts. His ass grinds against Bucky as he struggles to get the sleeves of the button-up off, and Bucky knows Steve can feel just how worked up Bucky is.

Bucky grabs Steve’s ass as Steve attacks Bucky’s mouth again, and Steve lets out a low moan of appreciation as they press together. A few minutes later they’re slamming down on to the floor, the rest of their clothes tossed away. Steve is sucking a hickey on Bucky’s neck, they’ve each got a hold of the other’s cock, and before Bucky can even slow things down and suggest perhaps a nice reunion blow job, they’re both coming in hot spurts all over Bucky’s stomach and the soft teal rug underneath them.

Steve sags down next to Bucky, one thick arm across his chest, and pants against his neck.

It’s either the best thing that’s happened to Bucky in a long time, or a disaster. Maybe both.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to let himself imagine that this means that everything is okay, that they’re together again, living happily ever after, best pals on the schoolyard, battlefield and bedroom, etcetera etcetera. Because life doesn’t work that way, and certainly not when it comes to him and Steve. Wishing for it won’t make what they just did any less of a monumentally bad decision – a very hot, very sexy, but nonetheless monumentally bad decision.

Rational people would use this moment to talk about what happened – was it a one time thing, a fond coda to their past relationship? The continuation of an uncertain détente? The start of something promisingly new? Maybe even follow it up with cuddles and reassurances of everlasting fidelity, or the explanation Bucky has longed hoped for from Steve. Bucky knows what he’d like to hear come out of Steve’s mouth… _don’t worry, Buck, all that weirdness is over now, I got my head out of my ass, I’m yours forever..._ He knows he could say something too, maybe find the right words to prompt a real conversation between them. Instead, to no one’s surprise, both of them chicken out.

Steve mumbles something about laundry, and ha ha, good thing they won’t run out of hot water, and bolts into the bathroom, bare ass and all. Bucky is left lying on the floor, a sticky mess drying on his skin, feeling like an idiot.

He manages to right himself and clean up a little at the kitchen sink while Steve is in the bathroom. Bucky’s just pulling his sweatpants back on when there’s a knock at the door. He’s so caught up in thinking about Steve and how this is just going to make it harder to watch him leave again when they inevitably solve this dumb case that he opens the door without realizing that his cover doesn’t exactly include a missing arm.

Luckily whoever rang the bell has already disappeared, and Bucky quickly grabs the package left on the doorstep and gets himself back inside. His racing heart slows when he remembers that Jemma had promised a delivery. Presumably whoever dropped off the package is working for SHIELD, instead of a resort employee prone to gossip.

“What’s that?” Steve asks. He’s apparently showered –again, the vain bastard – and is toweling off his hair, dressed in jeans and a different t-shirt, as he comes over to where Bucky is seated at the table. 

“Little present from Agent Simmons.” Bucky holds out the tiny device.

“What’s it do?”

“If we get it close enough, it’ll hook into Jason’s phone. Or Muller’s. There’s two, in case we get really lucky.”

Steve examines the disk, a small circle of black plastic. “Guess we’re going to the club again, huh?”

Steve might be breaking Bucky’s heart, but he’s still focused on the mission. Bucky needs to be, too, otherwise he’ll never get away from Steve and back to Wakanda so he can nurse his wounds in peace.

“Guess we are.”


	5. Chapter 5

They spent the night wandering around the resort, going in and out of the various clubs and lounges, but can’t find Jason or Muller. Steve is getting visibly frustrated, and neither of them are doing a very good job acting like a couple on a romantic evening out. On the other hand, they’re both grumpy and starting to snipe at each other, so maybe they’re playing their roles well enough after all. 

It hasn’t helped that Bucky flinched away from Steve when Steve tried to put his arm around his shoulders, when they slid into a booth at Rendezvous. He hadn’t meant to – but he’s still feeling pretty awful about letting himself screw around with Steve that afternoon, so chances are it’s related.

Bucky tried to make it up for it later, putting his hand on the small of Steve’s back as they leave the club, but Steve just side-stepped away.

They wind up seated at the bar near the pool, ordering two more beers for appearances’ sake more than anything else. They look around for a while, both of them trying to keep their heads in the mission. Steve’s shifting his bar stool back and forth, and the almost inaudible squeak is starting to drive Bucky nuts.

“Think we should call it a night?” Steve asks, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. Bucky imagines that most of the couples at the resort are a little more excited at these words.

“In a minute.” 

Steve frowns, but Bucky isn’t in the mood to placate him. He phone is vibrating, and he might as well check to see if Jemma has anything relevant for them before they head back.

He reads the message, which is in fact from Jemma, and lets out a groan.

“What?” Steve asks. “Something wrong?”

“Yes and no,” Bucky replies. He hands the phone over to Steve. The good news is that Jemma knows where they can find Muller and Jason tomorrow. The bad news is –

“A couples’ massage?” Steve whispers, eyes going wide. “Does she think we’re going to get one too?”

“That can’t work,” Bucky says, rolling his shoulder – it no longer makes noise when it recalibrates, but still, anyone putting their hands on it would realize it’s made of metal. “She’s not an idiot.”

“Wait.” Steve is scrolling on the phone, and Bucky, waiting, really wishes he hadn’t handed it over.

“She says there’s an option to sign up to use the spa facilities without getting any services. She’s signed us both up for morning passes.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and tilts the phone towards him so he can see the message, this time getting all the way through, and then clicking through to the linked website. “Still not sure I’ve got any interest in spending a morning at the Rainforest Spa.”

“Come on – they’ve got heated loungers. And the only outdoor hydrotherapy garden on the island. It’s a _soothing oasis_.” There’s a hint of humor in Steve’s voice as he leans in to read the spa’s page. 

Bucky can’t help but grin back, the sullen mood of the evening finally broken. Bucky can almost imagine himself enjoying such a place under other circumstances, but not while trying to keep his cover at the same time. “You go. You can keep a lookout while I ransack their lockers and bug their phones.”

Steve grins back. “It’s a deal.”

Bucky feels lighter as they walk back to the villa, but the comfortable physicality they shared before the afternoon’s indulgence still doesn’t return. Steve announces that he’s going straight to bed, but Bucky’s mind is racing, and he decides to sit in the living room and read for a while. He spends some time texting with Shuri – it’s early morning in Wakanda, but Shuri’s awake and generously helps Bucky get out of his head for a little while, talking to him about her latest project and all the goings-on at the palace.

Afterwards, Bucky lays back on the couch. It’s not super comfortable, but if he arranges himself just right, he figures he might be able to doze. He’s considering going out for a walk – it’s not as if he’s afraid of the dark – but then a terrifying sound gets him up on his feet and running towards the bedroom.

He stops short at the doorway, heart beating in his chest. Despite the scream he thought he heard, no one is attacking Steve, unless you count Steve himself. He’s clearly having a nightmare. The sheets are shoved down and twisted around his legs, getting more tangled as he rocks from side to side. There’s another bitten-off scream, and suddenly Bucky is moving again, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands firmly gripping Steve’s shoulders.

“Hey, Steve, hey. Wake up.” It might not be the best move, waking someone from a nightmare like this, but they hardly want the resort staff to come running, and another scream like the first one is certain to draw attention. Plus, Bucky is no stranger to Steve’s nightmares, even though this one seems worse than what he remembers.

Steve doesn’t respond, still thrashing, his hands coming up to grip Bucky’s biceps and try to throw him off. Bucky climbs fully on to the bed, lying down and wrapping his whole body around Steve and drawing him close.

“It’s me, pal. It’s just me. You’re okay. You’re safe.” Bucky repeats this over and over, knowing it’s what Steve needs to hear, while he rubs circles on Steve’s back.

Finally Steve stills, latching on to Bucky’s words, and the tension slowly drains out of him. He squeezes one eye open, then the other, blinking hard.

“Buck?” Steve rasps out.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, just a nightmare.”

Steve shakes his head, as if to protest the characterization of what he experienced as “just” anything. Bucky tends to agree.

“You’re safe, Steve. We both are. Just spending another night in paradise.”

Steve pushes up on an elbow and looks around, then falls back in the bed with a sigh. “We’re at that resort.”

“Yup. Fruity drinks, fluffy towels, and bad guys.”

Steve breathes deeply, catching his breath, and Bucky carefully slides back, putting a little space between them. Comforting Steve through a nightmare is one thing, but nothing is going to convince him that any version of super-soldiers with benefits is a good idea. And traditionally, post-nightmare Steve is very hard to resist.

This time, Steve is too out of it to protest much. He reaches for Bucky, but Bucky gently removes his hand from his arm, gives him a little smile, and climbs out of bed.

“Still need to brush my teeth, pal. Go to sleep, I won’t be far.”

Steve nods, flipping over and pulling a pillow to his chest, and within seconds, he’s out. It tugs at Bucky’s heart, leaving him there, but he knows it’s what he needs to do. He stays awake for another hour, sitting on the floor by the window, watching Steve breathe, until he’s reassured that Steve won’t sink back into his nightmare. Then he strips down to his boxers and naps on the couch until the sun comes up.

*****

Steve and Bucky present themselves at the Rainforest Spa’s reception desk bright and early the next morning. They want a chance to scope out the locker room before Jason and Muller arrive, in case it presents any unforeseen challenges.

It doesn’t. The men’s locker room is adjacent to the showers and changing area, and provides full length lockers. When you sign in, you are given a small lock to use to secure your belongings, and a little key on a wristband. 

They open up their assigned locker to give Bucky a chance to play with the lock, which – upon inspection – is remarkably easy to pick. Bucky leaves on his t-shirt and black and silver swim trunks – he’s not planning on getting wet, but he wants to at least try to look the part. Now they just have to wait for Jason and Muller to come in, and then let Bucky plant the bugs.

Steve is wearing his red swim trunks again, and he looks like a dream come true. The past few days in the sun have turned his skin a lovely tan, complete with little freckles on his forearms. He heads off to try the outdoor hydrotherapy garden ( _it’s a soothing oasis, pal, I’ve got to check it out_ ), while Bucky hangs back to watch for their targets.

He explores the indoor parts of the spa, bypassing the steam rooms and aromatherapy showers, and ending up in a tiled room with a circle of heated stone chairs. The chairs remind him a little too much of something HYDRA might design, but lilting island music is playing, and bouquets of flowers line the walls. He lies down on a chair with a view of the door, and keeps his thoughts trained on the mission.

Several guests come through the room, but luckily no one questions why Bucky doesn’t seem interested in anything except monopolizing a lounger. Finally Bucky hears Muller’s voice. He gives Muller and Jason plenty of time to make their way through the changing area and to the treatment rooms for their massage, and then goes to find Steve.

He finds him in an outdoor hot tub, head tilted back, sunglasses hiding the fact that he is probably half asleep.

Bucky approaches him silently, and crouches down next to him before whispering “working hard, pal?” right in his ear.

Steve startles, and then twists to look at Bucky, his cheeks tinted pink from the heat. He looks a little embarrassed to be caught enjoying himself. “It’s really nice out here.” 

It certainly is – it’s a secluded area surrounded by greens and flowering trellises, with several hot tubs and a small infinity pool to choose from. Bucky’s glad Steve is relaxing, even as he shakes his head at him. Apparently Steve still trusts Bucky to watch his back, because he’s clearly not doing it himself.

“My head’s hurting a little,” Bucky says, sticking to the script they had agreed upon – Bucky will plant the devices while Steve keeps watch. “I think I’ll head back.” 

“Oh, no, that sucks. Want me to come with you?” Steve says, a look of mock-concern on his face. He’s a terrible spy, Bucky thinks.

“Nah, I’m good. See you for lunch?”

Steve nods, searching Bucky’s face for any additional hints about the mission.

“Really, I’m fine,” Bucky says, patting Steve on his damp shoulder before standing up. 

Bucky casually picks the lock on Jason and Muller’s shared locker. Fortunately their phones are both in there – proof, Bucky thinks, that Muller can’t really be HYDRA, because it’s a ridiculously stupid error, to leave his phone unattended – and Bucky holds the little black disk near each one for a count of ten, then puts everything away and heads out of the spa. Like child’s play – for a properly trained child, anyway.

Back at the villa, Bucky changes into jeans and a t-shirt and sends Jemma an email. She responds in a few minutes confirming that she’s now receiving data from the phones, and will get back to them with what she learns.

Steve returns soon afterwards, several take-out containers of food in his arms. They’re in the middle of eating the shrimp and conch fritters Steve picked up at the snack bar when Jemma calls.

“Turn on the laptops,” Steve says, immediately slipping into mission mode.

Muller’s phone apparently contains a wealth of information, much of which Jemma now transmits to them. At first glance, it doesn’t seem very helpful – research on experimental drugs being developed all over the world, in perfectly legitimate endeavors. 

Hours go by, as Steve and Bucky read through documents on the laptop and talk it through with Jemma. May joins them via skype. It’s getting dark outside, and Bucky is contemplating whether room service will bring them more K-cups for the coffeemaker, when Jemma lets out a squeal.

“I think I found something,” she says urgently. “Take a look at this.”

It’s a set of blueprints, clearly delineating the underground tunnels which lead from Orchid Hall to the shore. There doesn’t seem to be any easy way to get into it from the beach, however, given the description of the cliffs nearby, and that the grounds of Orchid Hall are guarded twenty-four/seven.

“We could distract the guards,” Steve suggests. “Create a diversion, and go in from there.”

“Sure, and blow our cover for good when we have to come back out the same way,” Bucky points out.

“That won’t be necessary, boys,” May says. “Take a look here.” She makes a mark on her screen, and it pops up in a block on theirs. “It’s a side door, about halfway between Orchid Hall and the beach, concealed in a grove of trees on the side of an embankment. Our intel says the guards only patrol past there every few hours. I think they’re counting on the fact that it’s pretty well hidden.”

Bucky expands the view of the section of the blueprint on his laptop, and peers closely at it. “You think it’ll get us in?” 

“I’ve seen diagrams like this before. The little circle in a square thing-y means it’s a door. One that’s probably wired, and connected to an alarm system, but a door.”

“Oh, no problem then,” Bucky mutters. He’s not exactly interested in getting blown up.

“Don’t fret,” Jemma says. “Give me some time, and I’ll figure out how to disarm it.” She shoots an approving look at May. “Nice work.”

“Why do I feel that we’re just the hired help?” Steve whispers under his breath to Bucky.

May tilts her head at them, clearly having heard Steve’s comment. “Don’t take it personally. Just go lift some weights or something. Try not to worry your pretty little heads.”

“Ha ha,” Steve responds, and grins at May and Jemma for a moment before logging off.

“Helpful types to have on our side,” Bucky says, standing up from the chair. He feels like he’s been sitting in the same place for hours – probably because he has.

“Yeah, they’ve been working together on this kind of thing for years,” Steve replies. “Even found their way back from some weird time travel shit.”

“So… you trust them? To keep us from getting blown up?”

Steve levels Bucky his best “don’t make me disappointed in you” look. “Coulson trusts them. Hell, rumor is he’s married to Agent May. So I think we’re good.”

Still, Bucky shoots Shuri a text. He’s not sure exactly what to say – it seems rude to ask her to check Jemma’s work. But she’s the one Bucky’s come to trust, in the years he’s spent healing and trying to find his way in the world.

Luckily Shuri seems to understand what’s going on, and when Jemma skypes them again a few hours later, Shuri is on the call as well, and there seem to be no hard feelings. Instead, Jemma is praising Shuri and Shuri is praising Jemma, and it’s a love fest all around.

“We’re ready to roll, boys,” Jemma says. “I wasn’t completely sure about the best way to disarm the door, but Shuri showed me something she’s been working on-”

“It was nothing, not until Jemma adjusted the activation mechanism-”

“You would have figured that out in five minutes, once you turned your attention to it-”

“That’s great, guys, really great,” Steve interrupts. “Now, what’s the plan?”


	6. Chapter 6

It’s around three o’clock in the morning, and Bucky is closing the door to yet another room filled with unrecognizable plants, deep in the underground tunnels connecting Orchid Hall to the beach. He’s cold and wet, as the hydration system in the last room had chosen to go off just as he was taking a sample from a flowering plant with bright red blossoms and a putrid odor.

“Buck? You almost done?” Steve’s voice comes through the comms. They’ve been underground for about an hour. After they mapped out the tunnels and searched each of the side rooms. Steve did the hunting, tracking down any electronic or other data to copy whatever he could find, while Bucky did the gathering. 

“Affirmative.”

They meet up outside a control room, taking a few more minutes to erase any trace of their visit from the facility’s cameras and computers, then make their way out the side door.

Steve does his best to set it up like it was before they arrived, even going so far as to arm the door. He adds a code of his own, however, according to Jemma’s suggestions, so if they need to go through again, they can just turn the thing off.

On the way back to the resort, Bucky notices he’s feeling a little strange. Shaky, and not quite right in his body. He chalks it up to adrenaline – he hasn’t been on a mission in a long time. 

They’re back in their villa, Steve powering up the laptop to start uploading the data, when Bucky finds himself crashing to the floor.

“Buck?”

He blinks hard, trying to clear his vision, but everything is swirling around him. He’s flat on his back, the floor of the entryway hard under his head.

“Bucky? What happened? Bucky?”

He can hear Steve’s voice, high and scared, but he can’t see his face. 

“Steve?”

There’s a gasp, and then Steve’s gripping Bucky’s cheeks. “Open your eyes, Buck. You can do it.”

Huh, he hadn’t realized he had closed them. “Can’t,” he breathes out against the darkness.

“Okay, okay, that’s okay. Can you move at all?” Bucky tries, but nothing happens. “Squeeze my hand?”

He can feel Steve’s hand, and he thinks maybe he makes his own hand twitch in response, but that’s it. Panic seizes him, clawing cold up his spine. In the next second he’ll disappear, turn to ash, just like before. Just like the last time it all went away. “’m goin’,” Bucky hisses out. “Don’t wanna go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Steve says, his tone stubbornly confident. “This isn’t Thanos. You’re gonna be okay, you’re right here with me,” Steve says. “D’ya feel my hands on you, Buck? Feel that?” Steve’s rubbing his hands up and down Bucky’s arms, hard, squeezing what he can of Bucky’s shoulders. “You’re still here. I’m here with you, I’m telling you you’re still here.” Steve’s hands run down Bucky’s legs, pressing into his thighs, and back up to his shoulders.

“Can’t move.”

“I know, buddy, I know. It’s gotta be some kind of drug, some kind of paralytic from those flowers you were collecting.”

“Gonna freeze me inside.” Sure, he can still breathe, but how long will that last?

“I’m gonna take care of you, Buck. I’ll breathe for you. Keep your heart beating. Whatever it takes, until this wears off.”

Bucky hears an echo of _I can do this all day,_ and for a moment, the panic recedes. Because he knows Steve would do it, would breathe for him, would keep his heart beating, until his own gave up. But that’s not their only way out here, at least he hopes not.

“Tell Simmons,” he grunts out. It’s getting harder to speak, and that shoots his fear level right back up. “Get the… the thing to test… the little box…”

“Shit – of course – Buck – hang on –“

Bucky feels the absence of Steve’s hands on his body, hopes he can stay awake until he comes back. But it’s only a moment and Steve is there again, knees pressed hard against Bucky’s side. Steve’s fumbling with his hand, manhandling his arm, trying to get his finger in position. There’s a quick prick, and then Steve’s hands are back on his shoulders again.

“It’s done, I took a sample of your blood. Texted her, emergency line. Jemma’ll be able to tell what it is, tell us what to use to reverse it. She’ll help us, Buck, she will.” Steve is splayed out on the floor next to Bucky, he can feel the heat of his body all way down his side, from his good arm to his calves, where Steve seems to have wrapped a leg around him, a heavy knee over his thigh. The weight feels good, right. He’s still here if he can feel this, he hasn’t disintegrated. Hasn’t turned to ash and floated away.

“You still with me, Buck? You can fight this, I know you can.” 

Bucky tries to respond, but nothing happens. He wants to fight it. He tries to center himself, to remember the techniques he learned in Wakanda for meditation and inner strength. But he’s so scared. It’s coming, he thinks, the end is coming again. Again and again, how can this be his life, it’s not fair. It’s freaking cruel.

“Don’t cry, Buck, don’t cry,” Steve begs. Bucky can still feel Steve’s hands on his face, wiping his tears, so that’s something, he thinks. He’s not alone, not yet anyway. 

“Stay with me, Buck,” Steve says. “Please.” Steve’s got to be scared too, Bucky knows, now that Bucky is completely unresponsive. But he keeps on trying to reassure Bucky. 

“Come on, pal, just a few more minutes.” Bucky can feel Steve pressing his palm against his chest, checking for a heartbeat. “You remembered the drug tester, Jemma’s got the data now. It’s gonna be okay. Just hang on, Buck. Please.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s useless body and cradles Bucky’s head against his neck. “Love you so much, Bucky. Love you so much. I can’t lose you again. Please, hang on. I’m not letting you go this time, I promise I’m not. I love you…”

Bucky gathers Steve’s words into his heart, deep inside where the cold can’t touch him. He can’t move, can’t talk, but he can have this, the knowledge of Steve’s love. If only he was going to be around to do something about it, he’d do it right this time, he would. 

But suddenly a phone pings, and Steve’s gone. Bucky wants to scream, but he can’t. He tries to think rationally. Maybe there’s trouble. Maybe Steve had to go and fight. But Steve would have said something. He wouldn’t just leave Bucky here to die. No matter that it’s happened before, Steve wouldn’t leave him again. He just said he wouldn’t, he promised.

Suddenly there’s a sharp sting and Bucky starts, his eyes snapping open. Steve is kneeling next to him, a syringe in his hand, face streaked with tears.

“Buck? Jemma told me what to do, we had the antidote in the kit she gave us. She says it should work fast. You’re gonna be okay, this will reverse the drug’s effects. Look at me, look here. Buck?”

Bucky can hear Steve’s voice, can open his eyes and see his face. He looks down at himself, lifts an arm shakily to test it out.

Steve grabs his hand, then gets an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and helps him sit up. Bucky’s trembling all over, but at least he can move again. Can see, can breathe… he’s alive.

“Easy,” Steve says. “Easy. You’re okay, you’re gonna be fine. Try and relax, you’re safe.” Steve shuffles around, reaching for something. “Here, drink this.”

Steve has produced a bottle of water from somewhere – the pack he had on the mission, Bucky thinks, still right there on the floor where he dropped it – and Bucky takes it from him and drinks it down. Using his own arm, his own hand. Back under his own power. No longer frozen.

Steve is gazing at him with something like awe, and Bucky is right there with him. No way this works out like this, there must be a catch. But it doesn’t seem like he’s lost years of his life, or the world has half ended. It probably hasn’t been more than a few minutes, and Steve has been here the whole time. While Bucky barely managed to avoid being poisoned to death.

Bucky’s stomach lurches, and he stumbles to his feet and staggers to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. Steve is right behind him.

“That’s normal, I’m sure, it’s from the drugs. Holy crap, Buck, what the hell. I can’t believe what just… Holy crap.” Steve’s relieved babble follows him. 

Bucky rinses his mouth in the sink and gazes at his reflection in the mirror. He can see the panic in his own eyes, and suddenly his legs change their mind about how much support they can give to this recovery effort and he sinks down to the floor.

Bucky’s pulse is racing, and he pulls up his knees and leans his forehead against them. It’s like coming down from a nightmare, or a panic attack. He digs his fingers into his calves, trying to ground himself in the here and now. He hasn’t faded away into a pile of ashes. He’s still here.

Bucky recognizes that Steve is next to him on the floor. He’s sitting close up by his side, but not crowding him. Steve knows what’s going on as well as Bucky does. They’ve been here before, too many times, one or the other of them freaking out over various horrors. Despite Bucky’s pounding heart and the sick feeling in his stomach, this feels familiar. Comforting, even.

With a little effort, Bucky can even focus on Steve’s steady, calming words. “You’re gonna be okay, Buck. You’re in shock, from the drug, but it’s wearing off, and you’re gonna be okay. It’s 2020, we’re on a mission to catch a HYDRA lowlife. You’re free, you’re safe.” Bucky knows Steve is just rambling, just speaking to give Bucky something to hear, and it helps. It always has.

“You live in Wakanda – they love you there, they call you the White Wolf. You play cards with T’challa, you even let him win sometimes. Shuri’s your best pal, you used to raise goats-”

Something in Steve’s narrative strikes him wrong, and it gives him the jolt he needs to speak up. “No.” Bucky looks at Steve, swallowing hard. “Shuri’s not my best pal. She’s a good friend, truly, but she’s not my best pal.”

Steve hears what he’s not saying and holds Bucky’s gaze for a long beat, then shakes his head. “I haven’t been worthy of the name in a long time,” he says sadly. 

“It’ll always be you.”

Steve kind of looks like he’s going to cry. “Shuri’s been there for you, when you needed her. I’ve been…”

“Been what?”

Steve looks away, towards the window, and Bucky can see his jaw clenching. “Scared.”

This pains him, it does. Seeing Steve vulnerable has always pushed Bucky’s buttons. He can’t help wanting to protect Steve. But Bucky has learned that he has to protect himself, as well. Despite   
everything Steve said just now in the heat of the moment Bucky can’t believe that anything has really changed.

He lets out his breath for a count of five, and considers his words carefully. Maybe now’s the time for the heart to heart they should have had months ago. Nothing like a near death experience to strip away the pretense. He’s not sure how to start, but when he does, it’s with the most obvious of questions.

“Why aren’t we together, Steve?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. Maybe the terror of the night’s events has worn it all out of him.

“You have every right to be angry at me, Bucky.”

“Do I look angry?” He’s not. Anger comes and goes. Even when it’s at its height, he knows it will fade. What Bucky feels in the face of Steve’s pointless confession is closer to grief, a never ending reminder of loss.

Steve studies him, until Bucky has to look away. He thinks he sees it in Steve’s eyes too, the look he gets when he’s caught between a rock and a hard place, and he’s already decided he’s going to take the more miserable path.

“But why? Why aren’t you mad at me?” Steve asks, his voice small and tight.

“Do you want me to be? Would that be easier for you?” Bucky tries and fails to keep the resentment out of his voice. But Steve clenches his jaw in response, and Bucky knows that they’re not going to get anywhere unless he keeps him talking. And to do that, he’s got to come clean too.

“Not much point to being mad,” Bucky says. “You’ve made your choice loud and clear. Wanting you to choose something else… that’s never worked very well with you. If you don’t wanna be with me… “ Bucky trails off. That’s all there is to it. 

“That’s not it. That was never it,” Steve protests. “Of course I want to be with you.”

Bucky glares at him. “Don’t fucking lie to me. If you wanted to be with me, where’ve you been the past year?”

“Bucky.” Steve twists to face him, his eyes wide. “What the hell? Didn’t you hear what I said before? I love you.” He sucks in a breath, and when he speaks again, his voice cracks. “I love you.”

“It’s leftover love, Steve. From a different lifetime. I get that you still feel it, but clearly it’s not enough to outweigh all the bad shit. It didn’t, right? If it was real, you’d have stuck around.”

Steve looks stricken. He stands up – Bucky can tell he wants to move, pace around and rant, but even this fancy bathroom doesn’t quite have the space for that. He settles on leaning back against the marble countertop, one hand running through his hair.

“I didn’t want to lose you again,” Steve says slowly, each word seemingly painful to say. “I… I thought I could handle it, I was doing okay, after Bucharest. After I found you – you didn’t even come back to me, and that was your right, I get it. But we had to find you, hold you there by your metal arm with that fucking press thing – but you were back, you were safe. Then… you went into cryo in Wakanda – voluntarily-”

“I had good reason-”

“Of course you did, don’t you think I know that?” Steve says, voice cracking. “But you still left me, left me alone to deal with the world, just like after the train-”

“You can’t blame me for the train-”

“I blame _me_ for the train, you know that, goddamn it Bucky-” Steve is almost crying now, face screwed up and voice wrecked. “But we were okay, weren’t we? Until Thanos – I watched you – I watched you disappear – and you were gone, really gone…”

Bucky stands up and shuffles over to Steve, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. Steve’s pain cuts right through him, he can’t bear it. He knows it’s real. Steve chokes off a sob, pushing it all down, and Bucky sighs against his hair. His chest aches; his very heart aches.

“I think it was my fault, too,” Bucky says, choosing his words carefully. He flashes back to the memory of lying on the floor, paralyzed, accepting that Steve was leaving him. _Again_. Assuming that it was his fate, that maybe it was what he deserved. “I was worried about losing you too, pal. But didn’t think I had a say in what you did. Maybe I didn’t open up the way I could have. Didn’t let you know how it felt, how I felt, about you taking off. Didn’t let you know how much I wanted you to stay.”

Steve goes still when he hears this, taking it in. 

“I’m sorry, too, Steve.” Bucky hopes this is the right thing to say. He thinks it is.

There’s a long pause, and a sniffle. “Thanks.”

They pull apart, and Steve mumbles something about cleaning up. It’s anticlimactic, going into the bedroom and stripping off all his gear, pulling on a t-shirt and sweats. Steve takes a turn doing the same, and they both end up in the dining area, back on their phones and laptops. Bucky shoots off a text to Shuri to let her know he’s okay – she wants to talk, but he just doesn’t have it in him right now. He adds a couple of cute emojis to his message and promises to check in when he’s gotten some sleep.

Bucky wonders for a moment who Steve’s got in his corner these days. Sam, presumably, although they haven’t really talked about him much after realizing he had tricked them into their current fake-marriage gig. He wonders if Steve can rely on Sam the way he’s come to rely on Shuri. Bucky imagines for a fleeting moment how much he’d like to send cute texts to Steve again, to somehow find their way back to how things used to be.

_Too soon, Barnes, too soon,_ he tells himself.

Steve is apparently taking care of the business end of things, as per usual. “Jemma says we should go to bed,” Steve says. “They’ll work on the intel we gathered and have more for us in the morning.”

Bucky is exhausted, and doesn’t protest, not even when Steve curls up behind him in bed and throws an arm over his waist. But when Steve leans over to press a kiss to his cheek, his stubble scratching Bucky’s skin, he can’t keep silent.

“It’s okay, Steve. You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

Steve’s arm retracts, and there’s suddenly a gaping space between them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky sighs. “Look, tonight was… dramatic, even for us. But it doesn’t mean anything. I won’t hold you to it.”

Steve shoves on Bucky’s shoulder until they’re face to face, and Steve’s face is not a happy one.

“How can you not understand how much I love you?” Steve says. He lets the moment stretch, staring into Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky wants to believe it, he wants it so badly. “But…”

“I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt me,” Steve says, determined. “That’s on me. But there’s no question. I love you, Bucky Barnes. Not leftover love, not some kind of _nostalgia_.” There’s a hint of a sneer in Steve’s voice for a moment, as if he’s insulted at the implication.

“What I feel for you, Bucky, is right now love. Right now, back then, forever after.” He runs his hands down Bucky’s arm, clutches his hand. “I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life, but I never stopped loving you. Present tense. Always.”

“Really?” Bucky’s voice is high, and he can feel tears gathering behind his eyes for the second time that night.

“Really.” Steve leans in and presses his lips against Bucky’s. Bucky gasps, his mouth opening, and then Steve is right there, fierce, hard and sure and driving any uncertainty clear out of Bucky’s mind. After a few moments Steve puts one hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder, and gentles the kiss, pulling back for a series of softer touches, until he stops, touching his forehead to Bucky’s.

“Steve…” Bucky’s head is spinning. They haven’t kissed like that in ages, and it feels real. 

“I love you, Bucky. Love you so much.” 

Bucky surges into Steve, wraps his arms around him and holds him tight. Steve is doing the same, and it’s wonderful. 

“I’m not gonna leave you again, Buck.”

“How will you keep fighting?” Bucky doesn’t really want to think about this, he’d rather just focus on the smell of Steve’s skin and how it tastes against his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out. Let’s sleep now. You need to sleep. I’ll be right here.” Steve snuggles closer, his lips on Bucky’s forehead, hand stroking gently through his hair.

Bucky wants to protest, wants to argue, or keep kissing Steve, strip him down and taste him everywhere. But he’s beyond exhausted, and Steve’s holding him so sweetly, with such care. Bucky relaxes into Steve’s touch. He’s safe and warm, and he’s got the love of his life back, at least for now. Helpless to resist, he lets himself drift off to sleep. Maybe they will figure out it, maybe they won’t. But whatever happens, he’s going to have this moment to remember.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky wakes up slowly the next morning. Before he even opens his eyes he flashes back to the night before, and a wave of panic passes over him before he remembers that he’s no longer paralyzed. He’s not dead, or dying or frozen. He’s okay.

“Hey, pal, you awake?” 

Maybe more than okay. There’s a warm hand brushing down his arm, and Bucky opens his eyes. Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking fond and a little bit shy.

“Yeah.” Bucky pushes himself up to a sitting position, considers his options, and decides to go with his gut. Smiling, he leans forward and presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, his hand on the back of Steve’s neck to hold him close. He keeps them together long enough to give his best guy a proper kiss, enough to let Steve know he’s in this now, too. He’s going to hold Steve to his word, no matter what they have to do to figure it out.

When Bucky pulls back, the smile on Steve’s face could power a small country. “Hi,” Steve says, a pretty blush on his cheeks.

Bucky’s amused to have made Steve lose his train of thought – it doesn’t happen very often. 

“Hi,” Bucky responds, letting Steve take his hand and give it a squeeze. In the process Steve drops the tablet he was holding on to the bed, and apparently this is enough to get his brain back on track.

“Oh – right,” Steve says. “I’ve got good news. Do you, um, want to come have some coffee and I’ll fill you in?”

“What time is it anyway?” Bucky sits up straighter, wincing and stretching. A glance at the clock answers his question – it’s almost noon. How did he sleep so long?

Steve has already disappeared out into the living area, giving Bucky some space to stumble into the bathroom and assess the damage. Not bad, really, given a hefty dose of poison followed by what was likely a powerful enough antidote to reanimate an elephant. He takes a few of the specially formulated painkillers he uses for headaches and washes them down with a glass of water. By the time he’s out of the shower, he’s feeling pretty decent.

Which is just as well, he thinks, as he goes out to claim a mug of coffee and hear the latest news on their op.

Steve is sitting at the dining table, leaning back with his legs spread, a sneaky grin on his face. Clearly they aren’t about to leap into action.

“What’s so funny?”

Steve shrugs, his smile growing wider. “We owe Nakia a fruit basket.”

“Oh?” Bucky takes a seat at the table. “Why’s that?”

“Apparently the data we downloaded after the raid last night revealed that one of the ships Nakia had placed undercover agents on was heading towards the island for a meeting with Muller. She was able to catch him in the act, with a load of experimental and highly illegal drugs on the speedboat.”

“You’re kidding me,” Bucky says. Is that really it? “Do we need to – I don’t know, go do clean up or something?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nope. Muller’s in Wakandan custody, on his way to a SHIELD interrogation. Nakia’s agents will question Jason and any other locals who might have been involved, see if any of them knew what was going on.”

“What the hell did they need us for, then?” 

Steve shrugs again, still with a twinkle in his eye. “Guess Nakia didn’t have anyone else she could use.”

Bucky stares at him. Clearly Nakia has pretty much every kind of possible agent on hand. She obviously could have come up with a couple willing to spend a week in an ocean-front paradise. And from the way Steve’s grin has turned bashful, he has likely come to the same conclusion. What seemed to be Sam setting them up must have had more than just the Falcon behind it.

“Joke’s on us, I guess,” Bucky says. 

Steve’s smile fades. “You think it’s a joke?”

Bucky’s heart starts to pound. “What do you mean?”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, then shakes it off. “Never mind. Anyway, our exfil won’t be until tomorrow, so we can relax for the rest of the day.” He gets up from the table, but Bucky stands and catches his arm.

“Steve.”

“What?” Steve won’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s a joke. You and me. That’s not what I meant.”

Steve glances up, meeting his eyes, and for a moment all Bucky can see is a skinny, insecure kid, still unable to believe that Bucky cares about him.

“Oh. Okay. I didn’t think you did.”

Bucky huffs. “Liar.”

“No – I…” Steve sighs. “I’m a little spun around, I guess. I just want this to work.” Steve’s so sincere, his eyes as wide as a puppy dog’s. But good intentions aren’t going to solve this problem.

“I do too, Steve,” Bucky says, sliding his hand down Steve’s arm and taking his hand in his own. “But I admit, I’m not sure where to go from here.”

As if they were in a sit-com, Steve’s stomach suddenly gives out a loud rumble. A smile tugs at his mouth. “To lunch, maybe?”

They debate whether or not to order room service, but decide in the end that they might as well go out and enjoy the resort one last time. Steve disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and Bucky pulls on the covering for his arm. He looks in the mirror to tie up his hair before he puts on his sunglasses, and his eyes land on the necklace that disguises his face. He wonders what would happen if he took off the cord around his neck. Would he still recognize Steve? Somehow, he thinks he would.

It’s hot out when they finally leave their villa, and Bucky’s glad he isn’t wearing jeans – like Steve is. Dork. Instead Bucky’s got on a slim cut pair of gray shorts and a white v-neck tee shirt. From the way Steve keeps sneaking glances at him, he figures he looks pretty good. 

When Steve grabs his hand and darts a quick kiss to his cheek, he knows he does. 

Steve’s right, things have been moving fast, Bucky thinks. He’s out of practice, having spent so much time without Steve. He’s forgotten how this man can make him question whether two plus two is four.

Things settle down as they eat their lunch. Their table is well shaded by a large umbrella, but close enough to the ocean to feel the cool breeze coming off the water. Bucky slides off his flip flops and digs his toes into the sand, and Steve does the same.

He really doesn’t want to leave this place. It’s been too good to be true, really. And now just when they’ve come to some kind of agreement about how they feel, the op is over, and it’s time to leave – to what, Bucky’s not sure.

Bucky’s not ready to talk about this yet, so he lets Steve tell him story after story about his team – Clint, and Wanda, and Sam, of course, and all the craziness they’ve been up to. Bucky thinks Steve is giving it all a rather rosy hue – he’s heard enough from Sam over the past year to realize it wasn’t as manageable as Steve makes it out to be. He nods a few times in places where Steve clearly expected him to protest, and it makes Steve roll his eyes and add even more ridiculous details to his stories.

“Was that when the alien crocodiles showed up?” Bucky asks at one point, having fun with their game.

Steve grins. “Yup. Giant alien crocodiles. And they had wings. With green feathers.”

“Flying, giant alien crocodiles? Whatever did you do?”

Steve leans back and crosses his ankles under the table. “Sprayed them with water. Their feathers got soaked through, and they had to land.”

“Don’t they have rain on their planet? You’d think a little water wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh no, they don’t have rain on their planet. No water at all. It’s a desert.”

“I thought they were crocodiles?”

“Alien crocodiles, Buck. _Alien._ Pay attention.”

It’s late afternoon by the time they’ve polished off their desserts. Bucky ate a piece of mango cheesecake that was bigger than his head, and Steve is buzzing from the huge slice of caramel coconut cake he’d consumed.

“Want to walk this off for a while?” Steve asks, giving his stomach a pat.

“Sure.”

They head down towards the water, stopping for a minute to listen to the band at the beachfront bar. The guitarist looks half-asleep, but it doesn’t seem to impede his ability to play Bob Marley tunes. He’s probably played them a thousand times, Bucky thinks. The lead singer gazes at Bucky and Steve, mournfully asking them if they could love and be loved… 

Steve’s eyes flicker up to Bucky’s and for a moment Bucky thinks he’s going to say something, but Steve just gives himself a little shake and starts walking again.

“Want to check out the point?” Steve asks. Bucky nods. It’s about a quarter of a mile to where the land curves out into the sea, a charming stairway leading up through the leafy shrubs up to a spectacular view of the water.

At the top, there’s a deck with a few benches and a small gazebo. It’s amazingly picturesque. Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and tugs until they’re facing each other. He’s left his sunglasses tucked into his shirt, and his eyes are bright blue in the late afternoon sun.

“Come here,” Steve says softly, placing a hand on Bucky’s cheek. He pulls Bucky in for a gentle kiss, and Bucky wants to enjoy it, but something is holding him back. Tomorrow they’ll be miles away from this improbable place, and he can’t quite forget about it.

Steve pulls back, and the confusion on his face morphs quickly into determination. A little part of Bucky’s brain rejoices – that’s his Steve, the man with a plan. Steve leans in again, kissing Bucky harder, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Steve,” he says gently, taking a step back, “you can’t fix this by sweeping me off my feet. Not that it hasn’t worked before, but…”

Steve’s eyes widen, and then he huffs out a soft laugh. “No, Buck, you’re right. You’re always right.”

“That’s the biggest lie you’ve told this week.”

“No, really…” Steve turns away and looks out over the water, his hand trailing down Bucky’s arm, fingers intertwining with his own. “I’m so proud of you, you know. “ Steve turns to face him. “You’re so strong. You’ve been through so much, and you just… you just keep going.”

Bucky feels himself blush. “Not much of an option.”

“Now that’s a lie.” Steve’s face is serious, and it makes Bucky reconsider his words. There are other options – crashing a plane into the ocean; voluntarily going into cryo. Neither have worked that well, as it turns out.

“I’m awfully glad, though,” Steve says, pressing Bucky’s hand against his chest, “that you kept going. That you didn’t give up. That you -” his voice cracks. “That you’re here with me.”

“I’m glad too,” Bucky says, letting his other hand rest on Steve’s hip. No matter how hard it’s been to have this time with Steve, with all the uncertainty it’s brought, he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Steve takes a deep breath and steps back, then drops down to one knee. He stares up at Bucky for a long moment, and then draws something out of his pocket. Bucky suddenly feels his stomach tumbling, and he almost reaches down to steady himself on Steve’s shoulder. Because this cannot be happening.

“Bucky, I know this won’t fix everything. I know we’ve got work to do. But I can’t let you keep thinking that this isn’t real.” Steve holds up a small box and opens it, revealing the two wedding rings meant to complete their cover.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how long it might be. I’ve loved you forever, and nothing has ever changed that. Nothing ever will. Bucky, will you marry me?”

Bucky blinks down at Steve, his hair lit with gold from the sun, his eyes shining with love. Bucky’s almost as paralyzed as he was the night before, wanting nothing more than to say yes, but so very scared.

Steve squints a little, then stands up, smiling gently. “I promise it’ll work out this time, Buck.”

“You can’t promise that,” Bucky says, his voice rough.

“I can promise not to run away. To work on this, on us. To make you my first priority.”

This last promise draws Bucky out of his spiral. “What?”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and brings him over to a bench, sitting them down close to each other. Steve’s leg against his own is soothing, despite the weight of their conversation.

“You’ll be my first priority,” Steve says simply.

“You’re not going to be Cap anymore?”

Steve doesn’t laugh at this. “I haven’t been Cap in a long time. I’d want to keep working on something… but not that. I’ll live in Wakanda with you. We can make that our home base. Whatever else comes up - we can figure it out.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“You’d give up being Cap?”

Steve looks like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Buck, I’ve done it before.”

He’s not wrong – there was the divisive battle over Bucky and the Accords; hell, back in the war Steve defied orders and common sense to rescue him. Steve hasn’t really been all that shy about risking more than life and limb in order to do what he thought was right – and if being with Bucky is what he thought was right, who was he to argue?

Steve is still gazing at him, one hand set reassuringly on his arm. The ring box is on the bench. Steve sees Bucky’s eyes go to it.

“We don’t have to – the rings were just symbolic, they’re not really engagement rings anyway, although I don’t know how that really works with guys, I’d get you a diamond if you wanted, although – Wakanda? Do they have diamonds? Isn’t there a problem with diamonds in Africa?”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts off his babble, relieved somehow that Steve is letting a little bit of his own nerves show through. He picks up the ring box and holds it up. “I’d be honored to marry you.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s grin blossoms over his face. “Really?”

“Really.”

They fumble for a minute, putting one ring on Bucky’s right hand when it doesn’t want to slide on to his metal finger on his left hand. Steve also puts his ring on his right hand ring finger. “So we’ll match,” he announces.

Rings on, Steve gives a little whoop of happiness, and then pulls Bucky into a kiss. This time Bucky’s all in, his hands coming up to cradle Steve’s head, as Steve’s arms wrap tightly around him. Steve makes a needy little sound against Bucky’s lips, and Bucky hums back at him, opening his mouth - and, finally, his heart - to let Steve in. 

*****

“You know what?” Steve says later, after they’ve made out like teenagers for what seems like hours. It’s probably been only twenty minutes or so, but they can’t go on much longer – they’re not about to start ripping each other’s clothes off under the gazebo, no matter how tempting it might be.

“What?”

“When Sam finds out about this, he’s going to be insufferable.”


End file.
